dóttir
by cupcakeriot
Summary: The Norns work in mysterious ways. What starts with a strike of lightning and an orphaned dragon egg will end up reshaping the future of the Vikings - and the Norse Gods themselves - forever.
1. one

**One**

Iza does not dare open her eyes.

She inhales deeply, relishing the feel of her ribs stretching around the expanse of her diaphragm, and thinks, _I am alive_. Rain patters against her face, icy pinpricks to the heat of her flushed skin, and she thinks, _I should not be alive_. This she knows with absolute certainty.

Those struck by Thor do not rise again.

And yet, she continues to breathe. Even sprawled as dumbly as she is on the muddied forest floor with the faint scent of smoke teasing her nose, she continues to _live_. True, her body aches and her muscles shiver sporadically, but she feels stronger as the seconds pass. Stronger, perhaps, than she has ever felt before.

Overhead, thunder rumbles in the sky ominously and Iza flinches, expecting another strike of lightning to course through her body. Thunder merely roars again, and in her mind it almost sounds like laughter, though strangely not unkind. The curious absurdity of such a thought is what compels her to open her eyes – finally. The sky that greets her through the boughs of the trees is darker than it had been, the rain falling from the heavy clouds a torrent that quickly soaks her to the bone. There is no more lightning.

No, all the lightning had stuck _Iza_ – and now it has vanished from the storm.

Briefly, Iza wonders what the village elders would think of such a thing if she were to tell them. Should she tell them? Thor's hammer had swung from the ether to deliver to her a killing blow from the sky itself. Surely, such an account would interest the elders; they would rave about it for weeks and try to divine a meaning from Thor's actions.

But, _no_. By the Norns, Iza would have to tie her tongue! If she were to tell the elders of what happened to her, then she would _also_ have to tell the elders – and the Chieftain – why she was in the forest to begin with. And if she told them that she intended to hide in the forest until the battle was over, then she would not only be forced to confess her reluctance to fight but _also_ why she disapproved of the fighting in the first place.

Iza _would not_ shame her father in that way.

Resolved, Iza eyes the sky warily as she sits up. Fresh air on the top of her chest makes her look down, catching the plain wool of her tunic as the singed edges flutter apart to expose her skin. Iza fairly gapes at the revealed flesh. Right over her heart, there is a series of angry pinkish markings – tender to the touch – that branch out from the center point like the roots of Yggdrasil. _Or like lightning_. Alarmed that Thor has marked her so _boldly_ by planting lightning on her skin, Iza rushes to cover it up. Her hands tremble as she ties the frayed edges of wool together, heart hammering in her eardrums. Any notion of forgetting being struck dies very quickly. Iza has been marked for life – the very evidence lives on her body now.

Pressing her trembling hands over her now-covered chest, her eyes take in her surroundings and she gasps. Dread builds, locking her throat. The ground is as scarred as her skin, the mark of Thor's lightning torching through the grass and blackening the earth several hands around where she sits. Iza scrambles to stand, knees knocking together as she flees the scene, heading further from her village and deeper into the forest.

She expects to feel weak and lightheaded, but except for the nerves clanking her bones together, Iza is hale in body and mind. The quiver hanging from her waist bounces against her thigh as she runs, picking up speed and fluidity as muscle-memory returns to her shocked body. Iza spends quite a bit of time in the solitude of the forest around her village. It is as much home to her as the Chieftain's house atop the highest hill in Forks.

Iza isn't sure of how long she intends to run – knowing she must _eventually_ go back home, perhaps when the flashes of dragonfire have long vanished from the battleground her home frequently becomes – but a high-pitched noise snags her attention and halts her leather-clad feet.

That sound, she knows, has no home in her forest. The forest is peaceful, a place of spring-fed water and chirruping birds even at night; even wounded elk do not emit such a noise.

Iza changes direction, torn between caution and an immutable sense of _knowing_.

After all, she _has_ heard that noise before and she knows what it means. Just not _here_, in the quiet of the trees.

The metallic cry comes again, thready and weak this time, and Iza hurries to break through the bramble. She stops at the top of a deep ravine, peering down into the darkness to spy the injured dragon with a muted sense of surprise. It is too dark to tell what kind of dragon it is, but she supposes it is smaller, more slender than ones she has seen before, with scales that blend into the shadows and eyes that emit the tiniest of greenish glows. It is the scant light provided by the dragon's eyes that clue her into the cause of the dragon's injury, for an eerily similar pattern scores the earth around the dragon.

It seems Thor had seen fit to strike _two_ beings on this night.

The sky rumbles again – a confirmation – and the rain begins to fall harder, raindrops slipping down her neck around her long braid. The dragon cries again, the pitch of its voice painful to her feather-pierced ears.

The dragon is dying.

They had both been struck by Thor, but only Iza had survived.

There must be a reason.

The caution that had kept her immobile at the top of the ravine disappears, and Iza skids down the mud-slicked slope, landing hard on her hands and knees. She grunts, then freezes when she feels the heavy weight of the dragon's stare. Iza raises her eyes and stares right back at the shadowed dragon. The fear she expected to feel – the fear she feels each time the bell is rung and the dragons come to steal the village livestock – is nowhere to be found.

All Iza truly feels is a disquieting sense of pity at the pain plain to see in the dragon's glowing eyes.

The sky rumbles again.

And Iza says, "No creature, not even a dragon, deserves to die alone."

The dragon closes its eyes and Iza holds herself still, a silent vigil witnessing the slow, belabored death of a dragon – the declared enemy of all that dwell in Forks and the villages beyond. It is quick and, she hopes, painless for the dragon. Iza, unlike others, has never seen glory in senseless death. She feels some sadness for the dragon and wonders if dragons have their own Valhalla, if the dragons who die in battle find treasures in the next world just like Vikings do. Do dragons have Valkyrie?

Such thoughts are strange, she knows. Yet still she has them.

Is that why Thor saw fit to strike her with his lightning? If so, then what had the dragon done to deserve the same – and worse – fate?

Iza frowns and shakes her head, fumbling for the flint tucked into a sachet of supplies in her quiver. She plans to burn the dragon, to send it off to the afterlife and Hel's realm with as much dignity as it deserves. A dragon is still a being of the Great Tree. To die without fire to protect its soul is – unthinkable.

But as the sparks of her flint cast fleeting bursts of light into the darkness, her eyes catch on something beneath the dragon's leathery wing. Iza crawls forward and pushes the wing back, squinting into the blackness. Thor must still be watching over her, because lightning flashes just bright enough that Iza can make out the shape beneath the wing as thunder crashes again.

Impossible.

But undeniable.

Scarcely believing it, Iza carefully reaches forward, palms slipping against the smooth, stone-like texture of the – miraculous – _dragon egg_. Her mind blanks free of thought as she holds the egg, its weight dragging on her arms, the falling rain slicking her grip enough that the only thing she can do is hug the egg to her chest to stop from dropping it.

Because surely dropping a dragon egg would be very _bad_.

"Oh, Thor," Iza murmurs in dazed prayer. "What do I _do_? What would you have me do? I can only imagine that you must have a purpose for striking me and leading me to this dragon – but what I am to do with a dragon _egg_? I cannot bring it back to Forks…"

Yet, what other option does she have? Her conscious would not rest well to know that she had left a vulnerable egg in a forest, unknowing if it would survive alone and without the guidance of its mother. And she cannot help but feel that the dragon had died in peace _precisely_ because it knew that Iza would find – and protect – its egg. Otherwise, wouldn't the dragon have fought against Iza's interloping until its dying breath? Instead, the dragon had passed in peace – and entrusted its egg to a wayward shieldmaiden.

Iza steels herself as she sets the dragon alight, staring into the flames as she cradles the egg to her chest. The rain works to dampen the abrupt pyre, sending smoldering smoke into the night sky. Iza hurries away knowing she cannot be caught at a dragon's funeral, huffing as she climbs one-handed back up the ravine, tripping over her own feet as she hastens back to the village. As she nears the village, she drags the heavily soaked, fur-lined cloak around to her front, both to hide the egg and her destroyed tunic. Her only goal is to reach the highest hill without being seen, for she is in no right mind to answer any queries on her whereabouts during the battle against the dragons. Ever.

She skirts around the backs of longhouses, making note of how quiet the village is now. The battle must be over, then. Most of the village ought to be gathered in the Great Hall, the longest-standing longhouse in the village where many feasts are shared over the long winter and where, after battles, the injured are tended to as the Chieftain looked over them all. This is good, as far as Iza is concerned. If the Chieftain is in the Great Hall, then he won't be home – and that means that she can sneak the egg into her room and quietly panic over what she should do next.

Iza reaches the stout longhouse on the highest hill and lets out a quiet sigh of relief as she lets herself inside. The furthest corner of the hut, partitioned by shuttered wood hanging from the ceiling on two side to give her privacy, has been hers since she was a babe. It is in that corner where Iza swiftly makes a space for the egg, nestling it between her feathered pillow and the hay mattress on the floor where it is pushed against the wall. She covers the egg with her pillow and sits down on her rear, suddenly tired beyond all measure. She struggles with the clasp of her cloak, rolling her neck when the suffocating weight off her body. She'll have to hang it before the fire to dry the fur, but that bothersome task can wait a moment or two.

It has been a very long night.

And, when a heavy-handed thump sounds on the door, Iza can only commiserate that the night is about to be longer. Because she knows that knock and she is absolutely _not_ ready to face _him_. She has very little choice in the matter, however. If she lets him continue, he'll knock hard enough to bring down the entire longhouse and feel no worse for it.

Iza forces herself to stand up, managing to answer the door before there is another chance to knock. Standing outside, sword at his hip and daggers tucked into the leather vambraces on his forearms, is the hope of the hunters of Forks and the bane of Iza's existence. Not because he is overly rude to her, which he has been when they both were younger; not because her father favors matching her with him, although he does; not because he is so proficient with a blade that he has killed more than men twice his age, though such a record is not endearing to Iza in the slightest. No, her problem with this young man, four summers older than her own sixteen, is that she _does_ admire him.

For all that Edvard is an orphan, he has made something of himself – he is, by far, the most steadfast man in the village. And perhaps the most handsome, although Iza truly tries not to allow herself to be swayed by his copper-coin hair and eyes the same shade of green as the springtime glades. It's much easier to focus on his strange blend of intensity and aloofness. One moment, he doesn't seem to care about her at all, and the next, he is standing on her doorstep with a foreboding expression.

"You were not present at the battle," Edvard says, bypassing a nominally polite greeting altogether.

Iza stiffens, then pats the quiver at her hip. "I fight from a distance, as you well know." Then, before they can get into the same tired disagreement about the _right_ and _honorable_ way Vikings _should_ fight – meaning, with a sword and not the safe distance of a bow – she tries to redirect his focus. "Is my father looking for me?"

"No."

Iza waits, but that single-word answer is all Edvard offers. Her mind tries to turn over the implications – if her father isn't looking for her, then why is Edvard _here_ – but she struggles to find an explanation that fits into her worldview cleanly. And while she is so distracted, Edvard's keen eyes latch onto her ruined tunic.

His brow furrows and he takes a step forward. "Have you been injured?"

Iza blinks in confusion, then follows his stare. Her cheeks heat with a bright flush and she shakes her head quickly. "No! I am fine – just a small, uh, accident with a-a…a flint! Yes, the spark just got away from me for a moment, but I am fine!"

Edvard tilts his head, now studying her face. She can guess that she looks a right mess, wet hair sticking to her cheeks and her eyes a bit too wide, because his frown deepens. "Maybe you should see a healer in any case-"

Oh, no. A healer is the _last_ thing Iza needs. If a healer thinks that she's even a little sick, then they will insist on replacing her bedding – the bedding where she has _hidden a dragon egg_. No. That cannot happen.

"No! As I said, and as you can see, I am fine! You can report my wellbeing to my father, now!" Iza says with a false cheer, quick to close the door in Edvard's face and latch the door lock.

"Izabela!" His shout is followed by a thump against the door and an aggravated noise that is swallowed by the rumbling thunder in the sky. Edvard calls for her once more, curses, and then seems to retreat.

Iza presses her forehead against the rough wood and closes her eyes, heart rabbiting in her chest.

She does not dare open her eyes for a long while, fearful that if she does, the world around her will be unrecognizable from what it had once been. It feels to her as though her entire life has changed in an alarmingly short time – she has been struck by lightning and become the keeper of an illicit dragon egg.

She does not know what to do next.

But she dares not open her eyes just yet.

* * *

**A/N: I had a lot of ideas and an itch to write something _new_ (since editing and copywriting is, apparently, not really my _thing_) and, hell, I haven't done dragons yet. While this is definitely a How To Train Your Dragon AU, there's probably going to be shades of other Viking-related and dragon-related shit thrown in, because why not? **

**As to names, we all know I like to mess with those, so I'm going to _try_ to make all the canon names into Polish/Norwegian/Icelandic/Germanic equivalents, since those are languages most closely related to Norse Mythology. Which, speaking of, there are going to be a lot of Norse figures mentioned in this. Thor, as you probably know, was a God of thunder, storms, and fertility. Norns are weavers of _destiny_ and _fate_, but unlike the Moirai in Greece, the main three Norns do not represent past, present, and future - and there are thought to be many, many more Norns, all serving different functions. Knowing me, I'll probably include some pagan rituals to lend realism to the story, so it might be best to mentally prepare for animal sacrifice (yay!). Just a heads-up.**

**As to updating, I'm updating as I write - that means typos. Live with them, point them out for me to fix, whatever. Frequency depends entirely on my whims. I'm in a weird headspace lately and _stupidly busy_, but here we are anyway. This is definitely a WIP. **

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~ Rae**


	2. two

**Two**

Iza changes into a clean undyed shift made and tends to the fire at the center hearth of the longhouse. She is very cold, the type of chill that pebbles her skin and leaves her shivering half the night, even bundled beneath furs. Her restless sleep means that she is aware of when her father returns to their home, his grumbling audible as the uneven floorboards croak under his weight; the clank of his sword against the wall inexplicably makes her flinch. She screws her eyes shut tight and tries to keep her mind from wandering to the egg hidden in the shadows only a few inches away.

Iza is still unable to find rest long after her father has gone to sleep. It is the cold – that pervasive chill she feels all the way to her bones – that keeps her awake. That is what she tells herself. Only the _strange_ cold, as she should not feel as if she hasn't had the warmth of fire for ages. It is the springtime months, the sun having long-since thawed the snow and ice from the fjords. Iza had not felt _this_ cold even during the long sunless winter.

She does not understand it. Had Thor's strike forever altered her in more ways than one? Even now, she can feel the new way the skin of her chest stretches over her bones. A scar and a preeminent chill – those are the prizes Iza will claim for her hubris. She should have listened to the Chieftain and fought the dragons with everyone else.

She should have – but she did not. And now she must suffer the consequences.

The scant sleep Iza manages is broken by the dawn. She rises groggily, teeth chattering and her collarbone aching something fierce. Hazarding a glance at the opposite side of the longhouse to make sure her father is still asleep, Iza hastens to prepare for the day, running a wooden comb through her hair and donning the warmest wool dress she has. She makes sure the egg is covered by her bedding, then double checks just to be safe before she leaves her home. Pausing outside the door, she dips her hand into the rain barrel to wash her face.

Then, with a determined set to her jaw, she sets off to the lower village, intent to do her duty.

Iza has never been beyond her village, but she assumes that other places the Vikings travel to are the same – everyone has a duty to perform. Some are loggers, some are hunters or fishermen, and some farm; there is the blacksmith and the coppersmith and the builders who can fix anything; there are those who cure the meat and those who turn pelts into clothing; there are those who raise the sheep and those who shear the sheep and those who weave wool into fabric; there are even a few who teach Odin's runes to the children alongside how to fight with any number of forged weapons. Iza loves her village with the kind of devotion that only the Chieftain can match – but she has always been unsure if the village returns her love.

Iza is not as useful as others. She has strange ideas and stranger interests. When it came time for her peers to select a training weapon, all the others fought over the longsword while Iza thoughtfully selected a simple bow. When it came time for her peers to begin their trades, Iza once again set herself apart from her seers as she pled for the village elders to allow her archive their stories. While skeptical, the elders were hesitant to refuse the Chieftain's daughter, and soon Iza's days became filled with the Edda of her people. She even began cataloging the dragons the village fought, assigning the beast names and tracking the kind of dragonbreath they possess. Eventually, her duties expanded to handling the money of the village, as she had learned mathematics and had a knack for applying her knowledge. And while Iza thinks that her duties are meaningful, she knows there is no comparison for those who are able to actually _provide_ for the village.

And so after each dragon battle, Iza makes sure to rise early and survey the village, assigning funds where necessary and lending any hand she can to mending what damage the dragons had wrought. It is the least she can do – the very least, if she believes what some villagers have to say.

Plenty of villagers think her entitled, but the truth of the matter is that Iza is _unskilled_. Her aim with an arrow is clean, but she cannot bring herself to hunt the animals in her forest. She cannot swim, so she cannot be a fisher. She does not have the strength to be a logger or a smithy. Her attempts at farming and cooking are laughable, and her fingers are far too clumsy with a bone needle to mend even the smallest of tears. All she truly has to offer is her ability to read and write and do arithmetic. Sometimes, privately, Iza reflects that she doesn't seem to fit all that well with Vikings.

She is simply not like them.

Which is _fine_ – she has learned to live with it – but she feels no less an outsider for her acceptance of this fact.

And that is why, as she surveys the village, she is careful to note all damages on a scrap of hide with a nub of charcoal and be as generous with compensation as she can. She talks with the villagers to hear their concerns and tries to ease their minds; she makes herself useful, holding children to assist harried mothers or crawling into tight spaces that broad men cannot fit into to make simple repairs. She makes sure to check over the docks and the boats bobbing in the fjord and then reassures the fishermen that the village stores are full enough that they can afford a day away from the water. She sees to it that the smiths have coal for their forges and that bakers have wood for their stone ovens. And then she treks out to the three farmlands in the village, handing out copper coins to farmers who lost livestock to the dragons and checking on the progress of cage repairs.

All the while, she dutifully ignores how she is so cold that she begins to _ache_.

Iza has never felt so cold in all her life. Not even that winter when she was a child and got lost in the woods during a snowstorm, only to be found in a hollowed tree by Edvard and other hunters, has she ever been so cold. Her fingers are numb and although she is already very pale, she is sure that she has lost all her color.

This cold – it feels like death.

And right as she begins to feel weakest – slow and dumb as she staggers back up that terribly tall hilltop where her home is – she is struck by a sudden jolt of panic. The urgency to return home comes out of nowhere and makes her stumble in her tracks.

Why does she need to go home?

Obviously, with her duties done, she was going home anyway, hopefully to sit before the fire and warm herself from this dreadful chill. But now – she _needs_ to go home. Home. Home. Home – _home where the egg is so cold and alone and afraid and –_

"Izabela!"

Large, blade-scarred hands catch her beneath her arms as she tilts alongside gravity. Had she been falling? She hadn't even realized it. The hands are gentle in their grip and warm enough that they burn her skin through her thick dress. She looks up dazedly and then rears back in shock – though a tiny part of her is not surprised in the least that Edvard shows up _once again_ when she is at her worst.

"Is she all right?"

Iza recognizes the voice of Emebor Branson, another hunter and son on the family who had taken Edvard in when he was a babe. She supposes if they were together then Emmet and Edvard must have just finished their own survey of the village – this time looking for any traces of loitering dragons.

She wonders if they found the dragon mother Iza burned last night.

"I do not know," Edvard answers, glancing back at Emmet. "She seems ill."

"She should be at home," Emmet says bluntly. "Do you need help?"

"She is a feather," Edvard replies and, much to Iza's astonishment, he shifts to lift her into her arms as if she indeed does weigh as much as a feather. "I will take her to the Chieftain's house. When I return, we will continue our search."

"Take your time."

Iza cannot see Emmet from her vantage point, but she can see the stormy scowl that graces Edvard's sharp-boned face. "I will return shortly," Edvard grits out, and then stomps up the hill as if he isn't carrying a woman in his arms.

No longer quite as stunned, Iza begins struggling against his hold. This cold, the heat of his body is almost painful and her heart is behaving strangely in her chest. "Put me down," she commands through chittering teeth.

"No."

"Edvard –"

"Hush," he says, then then proceeds to ignore her all the way up the hill.

The _nerve_ of this man! If Iza were feeling any better – well, she certainly would do _something_ to remove herself from his arms! But as it is, her shivering is violent and even with his heat seeping into one side of her body, she is beginning to feel sluggish.

Iza has always heard that it is a bad thing to feel both cold _and_ slow. Nothing good ever comes after.

"The Chieftain is not home?"

Iza glances up at Edvard and then at their surroundings. They are inside Iza's longhouse. When did that happen? She shakes her head, confused by the disapproving tone in Edvard's voice, and says, "He is rarely home after dragon battle. He will be with the other elders in the Great Hall, trying to plan a raid against the dragons…"

A useless raid against the dragons, if anyone would think to ask Iza. But they never do.

"I see," Edvard mutters. He is careful when he sets her down in front of the fire, placing her gently on the floor and then moving away; he collects a deerskin to drape over her shoulders and logs of wood to feed the hearth. The silence between them is as odd as his actions.

Iza does not understand it. She does not understand _him_.

As soon as he seems satisfied with the height of yellow-orange flames licking against the stone hearth, Edvard becomes aloof again, saying nothing as he retreats from her home. She is briefly frustrated by her own curiosity about him – because it is a fools dream to think about Edvard in any way other than being a peer – before even that is consumed by the cold slowly freezing over her mind.

Sitting directly before a fire does not make her warm again.

Instead, impossibly, Iza feels colder than before. Fear curls through her chest – she is so _cold and alone and afraid and where is Modir_ –

Where is mother?

Dead. Missing. Mother has been gone since Iza was born, vanished in the night as the Chieftain slept. None in the village talk about her, though Iza has heard passing whispers that her own beauty might have rivaled the woman who birthed her. The Chieftain never mentions her. Even Iza does not spare her mother a second thought.

So why would she be thinking of her mother _now_?

Unless –

Iza turns her stiff neck, violent shivers wracking her slender frame, and looks through the wooden shutters partitioning her room from the rest of the longhouse. An unbelievable thought passes through her mind. It is not _Iza_ thinking about her mother – it is the _egg_.

Surely not.

But –

Iza cannot help but remember the sheer heat of the dragon mother last night, the warmth of her body even as she lay dying – warm enough to rival the heat of a fire. It only makes sense that a baby dragon trapped in the stone of an egg would need a source for warmth, though it does not explain why _Iza_ is feeling so cold.

Still, some buried fortitude has her crawling away from the fire and into her room. She unearths the dragon egg – ice-cold to the touch, leaving a hollow feeling in Iza's stomach. Iza frowns, hefting the dragon egg into her lap, then hugging her arms and the deerskin around the egg. At first, the cold is worse, sharper and icier than before – but then Iza's shivers begin to subside.

And a terrifying notion blooms in Iza's head.

"Oh, Frigg, have you bid me to replace the mother of a _dragon_?" Iza whispers, casting her head down toward the earth. What does _this_ mean for Iza? She is already strange enough – but mothering a dragon is almost perverse. Wrong. Treasonous. "I do not know what to do."

Except that she does – perhaps out of instinct or perhaps because the baby dragon is somehow communicating the idea, Iza _knows_ that she must get the egg warm. She will not be part of snuffing out an innocent life, dragon or not. A mere egg is no threat to her. And Iza has never been _cruel_.

Iza shuffles slowly over to the fire, bringing herself as close to the flames as she dares, the egg cradled in her lap – still cold, but not as frigid as before. Iza holds the egg and feels a sense of contentment, though she is unsure if it is truly her or the egg relishing the heat. Both, maybe.

Iza lowers her gaze to the egg, tracing her fingers over the speckled greyish stone with in solemnity.

She needs a plan.

* * *

**A/N: Ooooooh, mystical dragon connection...pretty much expected for dragon stories! **

**Daily life for Vikings is, from what I can tell, kind of a mystery to us all. What did they eat? What did they grow? What were their livestock? Did they even _have_ ovens? Well, who the eff knows, _but_ some excavations of Viking sites do reveal what _might_ have been a stone oven or something _like_ an oven and considering most ancient civilizations managed _some_ form of bread, I'm standing by the Viking Bakers mentioned in this chapter. Fight me. **

**The Norse mythical figure mentioned this chapter is Frigg, who is _not_ Thor's mother but who _is_ a magician who weaves a tapestry that basically tells the future (or something). She's also associated with motherhood, given that she's married to All-Father Odin. Some scholars argue that Frigg and Freya are actually the same person and someone just fucked up the spelling, but others determine that they're different figures who just happen to basically do the same thing in all the myths. Make up your own mind about it, I guess. It's barely even relevant to the story at all.**

**What is relevant? Mentioned in this story was the Edda - if you've done even the most basic browsing of Norse mythology, then you know that the Prose Edda and the Poetic Edda are the source of basically all anybody knows about the legends associated with Nordic paganism. Am I laughing at history by having Izabela work on her _own_ Edda? Yes. Yes, I am. I'm also shamelessly ignoring the fact that the Vikings didn't write down _anything_, but if they did, How To Train Your Dragon probably got it wrong because they definitely wouldn't have used parchment. Animal hide, on the other hand...But then, I'm only shooting for the barest minimum of historical accuracy. Which brings me to slaves - _definitely_ a thing that happened with the Vikings and definitely something that will be mentioned again in this story. I also feel compelled to mention that it makes sense for Izabela to be handling finances, since Vikings thought math was witchcraft and thusly let the women handle the money. Vikings were pretty cool like that.**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~ Rae**


	3. three

**Three**

The egg isn't grey as she had first assumed. Or maybe the egg _is_ grey, but only when it's sick, because Iza watches in bemusement as the stony shell begins to shift from the pallid grain to an array of gentle hues. Soft lilac and golden-pink near the top of the egg, just like the wildflowers that bloom in late spring, and a richly bronzed red near the bottom and around the side where the egg is closest to the fire.

_It must be warm_, she thinks, tapping the very top of the egg with her finger nail. She wonders if the baby dragon inside can hear her. Probably, if _Iza_ can feel what the _egg_ is feeling. How very strange.

But beautiful. Otherworldly. If Iza didn't know any better, she would think that the egg is one of Idunn's apples, here to grant her peace and immortality. She's never seen its like in all her days. She isn't sure if placing the egg right on the edge of the hearth this morning was a good idea, but then this odd instinct she seems to have developed is almost humming with contentment.

The egg likes heat.

For the first time, she wonders what kind of dragon the egg's mother was – there are so many, each of them equally as frightening. Iza recalls that the dragon was very dark and probably smaller than others she has seen, although it's difficult to make that judgement since she's never been _that_ _close_ to one before. And it _was_ very dark. She remembers the glow of slanted green eyes.

Will the baby dragon look the same?

And what will Iza do when it hatches?

She wishes the Norns would supply her with answers, but she knows better than most that the Norns work in mysterious ways.

For now, Iza will have to make do with the flimsy plan she's cobbled together. She turns way from the egg and continues rummaging through the wooden chest by the apple-laden table, glad that her father started his day earlier than usual. He should be in the Great Hall again, seeing to the running of the village, which is good. Iza's plan should go off without a hitch if she doesn't have to work at lying to her father. As far as the Chieftain knows, Iza will be going about her usual routine today.

She'll just be carrying a basket while she does.

Iza makes a noise of triumph when she finally finds the shallow bowl cast in iron at the bottom of the chest. She carries the bowl to the hearth, reaches for the fire prod, and carefully scoots red-hot coals into the bowl. "This should keep you warm," she says to the egg as she gently places the egg into the bowl, watching with fascination as the vibrant colors on the shell shift once again, blooming red right where the heat source is hottest.

Iza smiles, transferring the iron bowl into a woven basket padded by the deerskin pelt. She then covers the egg with clothing in need of washing and mending, packs a few other supplies into the basket, and ties on her leather shoes. She leaves the house with the basket – and hidden egg – on her hip and walks toward her destination on the lower, flatter, far-end of the village, mindful of every step so as to not jostle her precious burden.

She is satisfied that she doesn't feel cold at all on this day. She was right – dragon eggs need to be warm. She hopes the egg doesn't hold her previous ignorance against her.

Iza does not spare a moment for conversation as she passes through the outskirts of the village. She offers a smile to a few of the children playing a rowdy game in the foothills, making sure to hold the basket high enough that it is not jostled as she continues on to the farmlands belonging to Bran, one of the more lucrative farmers in Forks.

Iza reaches the longhouse on the farm far before the sun crawls to its peak in the clear blue sky. If she squints, she can see Bran and his younger children working the land to prepare for planting, while his wife circles the fruiting trees with an infant on her hip. Such a large family…

Iza shifts the basket, struck by sudden nerves as she knocks on the door, a polite perfunctory warning, since she doesn't wait for a response before opening the door and ducking inside. This longhouse is much different than her own, warm and chaotic with evidence of well-worn lives on every surface – a striking contrast to the quiet, almost destitute austere of the Chieftain's home. Seeing that the longhouse is empty, Iza sighs and turns right back around.

If Alise is not minding the stove, then she can only be one other place.

Around the back of the longhouse is an open-face awning on slatted wood facing the expansive fjords in the east – the best place, according to Alise, to work a loom in the shining light of day. This is where Iza finds her closest childhood friend. Iza stops just outside Alise's field of vision, watching as nimble fingers toil at freshly dyed wool, weaving an impressively intricate bit of fabric into existence. Iza cannot rightly recall any time where she could not find Alise working some kind of handcraft, something which has given Alise distinction in the village for something other than being the most seidr-touched among them.

Not for the first time, Iza wonders at the strangeness of men. They all seem to believe that each women has seidr at her fingertips and that it is seidr that makes women special, forgetting always that it was Frigg who taught such magics to Odin so Odin could protect mankind. Men can have seidr just as easily as women, but Iza has never met a Viking who believed it. And seidr, for all that women are thought to have it, is actually very rare. Most women in the village do not have seidr – Iza seldom has any luck outside of rituals, for example.

But Alise is different. Some elders have whispered that Alise must have been blessed by Frigg personally at birth, because Alise _knows_ things, often before they happen. Alise, just like Frigg, seems to see the threads of the world in the weaving of her loom. Iza has personally never been able to keep a secret from Alise, which is why she has made the decision to come to Alise with the problem the Gods have presented her.

And why she does not startle when Alise, without so much as blinking her sea-grey eyes, says, "You have a secret."

Iza grips the basket tightly. "I wonder if you might help me," Iza says, hushed. She looks pointedly at the clothes most visible in her basket. "I seem to need a helping hand."

Alise finishes the thread, carefully looping off her stopping place, and smiles at Iza. "Have you brought soap? I find I am in need of a new bar."

Iza's eyes dance. "Perhaps we can trade. My soap for your help," she offers. She cannot help but remember a time, not too many summers ago, when she had made a similar offer. Being somewhat talented at making fragrant soaps more gentle than the burning soaps preferred by the raiders, Iza had once offered to make soaps especially for Alise if Alise would help Iza keep up with mending. Alise agreed and the two have been fast friends ever since.

Iza trusts Alise. And Alise trusts Iza – maybe because Iza does not care a whit if Alise has more seidr than she should.

"Well, it _is_ bathing day," Alise concedes. "The spring?"

Iza's shoulders droop in relief. Alise has suggested the spring – _their_ spring, a secluded mountain-fed source that they had found last spring and that has been theirs ever since. It is the perfect place to talk about certain secrets. Iza is gratified that Alise understands, even if they have been talking through veils.

"A moment, then. I should gather the family washing," Alise says as she rises.

Iza nods. "I'll wait here."

Alise disappears into the longhouse and Iza moves to wait not too far away from the loom. She looks out over the fjords, tracking the fishing boats bobbing along the vibrant blue water. Her eyes track the horizon line, searching for far-away storm clouds, and her mind wanders.

Where do the dragons come from? None of them are sure, but many villagers figure that the dragons come from far away and must surely attack other villagers like vagrants. Iza is not so certain. Sometimes, she thinks she has seen the same dragons at every battle, though it is difficult to know absolutely. But she knows that Forks is surrounded by water on three sides, with the mountains behind them leading to broader, more unforgiving lands. What lies beyond the mountains?

Dragons, right? What else but those hardy, scaled, flying beasts can survive in mountains?

She has never voiced this thought. It would be too shocking. It would cause too much fear if villagers thought dragons lived just over their shoulders. Better to believe that the dragons are from far-flung places, further than even the Vikings have ventured.

Her thoughts are interrupted by an amused whoop, and she looks down the path leading to the farm to see Emebor Branson, Bran's eldest son and Alise's brother, lugging the carcass of a boar over his broad shoulders. Beside him is Edvard, who carries several pheasants. It is a lot of meat for one family, but then, it is a large family – and Emebor and Edvard are some of the best hunters in the village. She did not expect to see them return home so early, but it explains the wide grin spread across Emebor's face.

As he nears, he says, "Is this Loki's trickery, or is Izabela Chalisdottir in our midst."

"I'm waiting for Alise," Iza says plainly. She tries to ignore the urge to twitch or hide her basket behind her back, trying not to give the men any reason to suspect her of any strangeness. She meets Edvard's steady gaze for half a heartbeat, her cheeks blazing, before she looks back to Emebor, who while a bear of a man is still somehow less intimidating than his fostered brother. "It is bathing day."

Emebor smirks at Edvard. "Do you hear that? Our clothes will smell of flowers, like a woman."

"Better than your natural order," Edvard says flatly. He nods at Iza once, then walks off toward the animal pens.

Emebor scowls at his back, grunts at Iza, and follows along with some disgruntlement.

As they pass, Iza lets out a shaky breath. She has a _dragon egg_ in her basket – and she has just talked to two _dragon killing warriors_. What might they have done if they discovered the egg? What might they do to _her_? She does not want to find out.

"I am ready."

Iza startles at Alise's voice, nearly dropping her basket in fright.

Alise nudges her elbow, adjusting her grip on her own basket. "Relax. You did well. They suspect nothing."

Iza bites her lip and glances back to the animal pens, where Edvard and Emebor have already begun skinning their kills with alarming dexterity. She shivers, forcing herself to face forward. "If you say so."

"I do," Alise says simply. She leads the way to the spring, which is a bit of a walk through a dense copse of stunted trees. Soon enough, the trickling sound of water enters Iza's ears and a sharp mineral scent enters her nose.

Together, Alise and Iza set their baskets a safe distance from the water and, while Alise sets to casting a simple seidr to pleasantly warm the water, Iza piles the dirty clothing to one side and digs out her flower-pressed soaps. As she does, she reveals the dragon egg, which is more or less the same color it had been when she left home. Still warm enough then.

She's so preoccupied by critically studying the egg that she doesn't notice Alise over her shoulder until she makes a soft noise of surprise. Iza whirls around, worry writ plain on her face, and watches as Alise's eyes lose focus for several moments.

"Oh. Oh my," Alise says.

"I _know_," Iza despairs quietly.

"Well. That is a secret, is it not?"

"A huge secret," Iza agrees. She explains finding the mother and the egg and what had happened the day before, paying close attention to Alise's face – not sure if she is happy to see Alise so _serious_ for so long.

"And you think you need my help."

"Yes."

Alise nods thoughtfully, then peers down at the egg again, tilting her head to the side. "It is quite pretty. I never would have thought their eggs would be so pleasant to look at. Do you know when it will hatch?"

Iza shrugs helplessly. "I know nothing, only that the Norns have not given me any grace."

Alise hums, a tiny smile playing at the corner of her mouth. She reaches for Iza's soaps and kicks the clothing into the steaming water, wiggling out of her belted dress as she does. "Let me think about this while we bathe."

Iza nods, glad for direction. She unfastens the stays of her dress, stripping down to her skin without a pause, then sets to unwinding her long hair from its braid before carefully toeing into the dipping slope of the spring. Using the rocky side and a lard soap, she scrubs at the clothing in the pile, mindlessly rinsing and wringing and moving onto the next article as Alise moves around outside of the water, draping the wet clothes over boulders and branches to dry. With the clothing cleaned, both girls sink deeper into the water, helping each other wash their backs. It isn't until Iza is soaping the midnight length of Alise's hair with rosemary and cranberry soap that Alise finally speaks up.

"Your chest…Iza, are you okay?"

In all her worry about the egg, Iza had almost forgotten about Thor's mark marring her body. She looks down at the bear breast, discomfited by the pale pink lightning rooting over her milky skin. It looks no better in the daylight than it did the night she was struck. "I am fine," Iza says softly. "It happened the night of the battle. I was shameful, hiding from the battle, and Thor sought to reprimand me. I am lucky to be alive. The egg's mother was not so fortunate."

"You were both struck?"

"Yes."

Alise nods to herself, then ducks into the water to rinse the soap from her hair. Clean, she bids Iza to turn around so she can return the favor. As Alise's fingers sluice the dirt from her scalp, she asks, "And how is Chalisław since the battle?"

"The Chieftain is fine." Iza pauses, casting a guilty glance at the basket beneath the tree. "He does not know."

"I can see why. It is more than a secret, is it not?"

"Betrayal, you mean."

"In a way. But also not. Should you betray your own heart to honor your father? Or is it betrayal to ignore the challenges the Norns give you?"

Iza says nothing. She looks at the basket again, unable to stop her mind from thinking about the egg again – about the difference in what she _should_ do and what she _wants_ to do.

"I think you have been chosen," Alise says once Iza has rinsed her hair. She waits until Iza has stopped sputtering clumsy denials before adding, "I think you have been twice-blessed, first by Thor's unorthodox guidance and again by Frigg connecting you to the innocent life within that egg."

Iza sinks into the water down to her nose, frowning deeply at Alise's reasoning.

"The Norns must have grand plans for you," Alise muses. She smiles serenely at Iza. "But then, I always knew that your destiny would be special. So we must do our best to make sure your reach that destiny in as much peace as possible."

Iza's eyes widen and she forgets herself, standing straight in the water. "Truly?"

Alise's smile grows. "I think I have seen a solution."

"Anything."

Alise raises her brows. "When was the last time you visited the caverns?"

* * *

**A/N: Did you know Vikings were considered "clean-freaks" among other Europeans who lived in the same era? Apparently bathing once a week was really unique - actually, that's horrifying. My God, how did humanity survive? Also, the soap used by Vikings was really harsh and basically bleached their hair, so I'm sure it was a bit painful on the skin, too. Iza's soap is milder! **

**Norse figures in this chapter included Loki, God of mischief and lies and all-around source of chaotic neutral in Norse myths. Seriously, he might have started Ragnarok but he _also_ dressed Thor up as a woman, so. Pretty cool guy, that Loki.**

**Round of applause to _borntocontest_ for lending a hand in some Polish and Slavic names in this chapter - totally responsible for Emebor and Chalisław, who are Emmett and Charlie if you couldn't guess.  
**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~ Rae**


	4. four

**Four**

"Where do you think she goes?"

Edvard remains silent, his eyes tracking Izabela as she – once again – leaves the Chieftain's longhouse with a basket hoisted in her pale-fingered grip. His eyesight is very good. He can see how her shoulders round under the strain of carrying the evidently heavy basket. Her expression is nervous, like prey, as she glances back down the hill, checking that she is not being followed before she scurries away from the village. She carries her bow and quiver strapped to her back, which is unusual for her.

Not into the forest and not toward the farmlands in the valley. She goes toward the mountain, but also down toward the fjords. Dangerous terrain. Dangerous to navigate safely. But in spite of her burden and harried pace, she is quick to pick her way across the craggy juts of rock and disappears into distant morning mists with rare grace.

Edvard rolls his shoulders. "Mind your own business, Emebor."

His brother makes a face. "_Mind your own business,_" he mocks in a terrible imitation of Edvard's flat tone. Emebor sucks his teeth and turns to Jaspar. "What do you think?"

"Of what?" Jaspar is not paying attention, too busy – like Edvard – dragging a whetstone across the blade of his longsword to be interested in Emebor's gossiping inclinations.

"For the love of Odin," Emebor grumbles. "Where do you think the Chieftain's daughter _goes_? Every day it is the same. The sun rises, I have my gruel, I steal a kiss from my Różyczka, and I come to train with you louts – and then little Izabela sneaks away from the village. Where is she going?"

Jaspar flicks blond hair out of his face with the back of his hand and says, "Is the Chieftain's daughter not Edvard's concern? I care not what she does or why, so long as her actions do not harm the village."

Emebor huffs. "Yes, well, _Edvard_ does not seem to care, _even though we both know he does_."

"What she does is her business," Edvard says blandly.

At that, Emebor pounds his fist against his knee and points at Edvard accusingly. "You know, the other day I swear I saw that basket of hers _smoking_. Tell me, is that not strange?"

Admittedly, Edvard had seen the same thing and it had also made him curious. But he is not about to give Emebor the satisfaction of knowing his skin practically _itches_ with the need to know what Izabela does each morning far away from the village. She has a life her own that Edvard has no right to intrude upon – and even if he quietly longs to know all of Izabela, she is entitled to having a secret. All people have secrets.

Edvard included – although his is, perhaps, rather more _usual_ than most secrets.

Surely Izabela's secret, whatever it may be, is not as alienating as _Edvard's_.

Emebor does not await a response. He pokes Edvard in the shoulder, hard enough that Edvard can feel it through the cured leather of his vest. "You are favored by the Chieftain, brother. This girl could one day be your _wife_. How do you not care?"

Edvard's heart throbs within the safety of his ribcage.

The truth of it is that Edvard _does_ care – and Emebor knows it, he only wishes to goad Edvard into admission because he is an _ass_ – and he has long-since known that the Cheiftain has been watching him with the intention to make a match. The Chieftain needs an heir, someone to rule the village when he is gone, and since Izabela is his only child, the next Chieftain will have to be Izabela's husband. Chalisław seems to think that, out of all the other men in the village, Edvard has the most promising potential.

He understands the rationale, but he cringes at the very idea.

It seems wrong that he should take Izabela as a wife for mere political gain and the prospect of lifelong security. Especially because the way he feels about Izabella is most assuredly _not_ political. Not in the slightest.

Which has naturally brought him to a conundrum in how to behave around the object of his affections. Edvard's reserved personality would not allow for anything so overt as Emebor's shameless public affections, but he should be able to muster _something_ more than the monosyllabic utterances he does manage in Izabela's presence. Only he finds himself nervous and torn by the knowledge of what her father intends for them to become. The end result is unsatisfying.

Izabela likely loathes him.

He wouldn't be surprised if she resents him for the implication that she _needs_ a husband to keep her place in looking after the village. She has always been very independent. Unique to the other girls he grew up with. Even now, she has forged her own role.

Edvard does not want to be the obstacle in the future she is building for herself, even if he _does_ want to be the one to warm her bed and father her children. He wants to be the _only_ _one_ to ever have her body and hear her worries.

He does not know how to reconcile both desires – and so he does neither.

He is a coward.

Edvard scrapes the whetstone harshly down his longsword, his face twisting in frustration. "Mind your own business, Emebor," he repeats with a fearsome scowl. "Or will I have to remind you why I have been named the best warrior in the village?"

Emebor curls his lip, but finally falls quiet.

Edvard presses his molars together and – once again – begins turning over the problem of _Izabela_ over in his head. What should he do? What is right? What does not infringe upon her freedom but also keep her safe?

_A sign would be appreciated, Odin_, he thinks as his gaze lifts to the far-off mists, waiting for Izabela to return.

Any sign at all.

* * *

**A/N: A short, but important chapter - I dropped a few breadcrumbs for upcoming chapters, as I'm sure you noticed. Also, it's kind of funny that Edvard is the Most Socially Awkward Viking Ever. Hilarious.**

**Odin was mentioned in this chapter and he's a doozy of a Norse mythological figure. He's the Allfather, father of the majority of Norse divinities, and of course is known for being the high ruler of Norse Gods. But he's also associated with many, many skills. This is probably because in Old Norse, Odin (Odr) means ecstacy _and_ fury_ and_ inspiration. Rightfully so, on top of being the Allfather, he's also a god of war, a god of wisdom, a trickster, a shaman, a necromancer, and a god of poetry (for some reason). He has the most documented stories in Norse myths, probably because he's kind of a vagrant, wandering king; he also played the most important part in the Norse creationist story. He's wild. Anyway, some scholars figure that Norse peoples often looked to Odin for direct signs and divine intervention. Praying to Odin was basically like praying to a Magic 8 Ball, though, since you never really knew what Odin would decide to do. He was kind of a dick. You know, for a King of Gods. **

**Someone asked last chapter if seidr is like magic - and the answer is yes, it _basically_ is. Pretty much. But not like magic as we tend to think of it. From what I've read, seidr in Norse mythology was a woman's - and Odin's - skill that empowered them to play within the bounds of potentiality. Think of it like probability manipulation, only there weren't really _spells, _exactly, and the results were finite. A lot of it seemed to center around runes and ritual sacrifice, though. For this story, I'm just going to...make it up as I go. :)**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~cupcakeriot**


	5. five

**Five**

"How are you today?" Iza whispers to the egg. She kneels before it, her face level with the top-most curve. The egg does not respond, but Iza does not feel a dip in the steady stream of contentment coming from the egg, so she supposes that she – he – it is still okay.

She sits back with a sigh, checking over the nest she has made for the egg. It had taken Iza _hours_ to uncover a natural dip in the cavern floor and hours still to lug and roll and prod enough rocks around the slight pit to make a safe barrier for the egg. She has filled it with coals and wood chips and pungent whale oil to keep the fire burning for as long as possible. After all, Iza can only visit the egg once a day without her absence arousing suspicion and, even though she has a connection to the egg, she still frets that it might become cold during the night. So far, her efforts have been adequate, but she remains attentive.

She does not want what happened before to happen again.

With a critical eye, Iza assesses the color of the egg's shell and happily concludes from the wide spread of golden-red that the egg is doing as well as can be expected. Better, even.

_But how long will the egg remain an egg_, she wonders with a deep frown.

It has been weeks since the egg entered her life. Would it be weeks more until the egg hatched? Would the egg even hatch in Iza's lifetime. Not for the first time, she wishes there were someone to talk to – someone who could answer these questions. She has asked Alise, of course, but not even Alise knows.

Only the Norns know such things – and they do not seem keen to share with Iza.

Iza shifts, feeding the slow-burning fire with scraps of wood and sweet-smelling vegetation she had picked along the way to the cavern, taking care not to jostle the egg as she does. Then she settles nearby with her legs folded beneath her and resigns herself to struggling with her mending for next little while. She might as well spend her time wisely, especially since it calmed her father's mind to know that her traipses away from the village were useful. She had momentarily panicked when he asked after her the night before – and the first excuse to come to mind was seeking peace away from the village to better her lamentable sewing skills. Her father had accepted the lie and this morning Iza had not seen the harm in at least remaining partially truthful to her father's trust. Maybe, with any luck, word would spread to any other curious villagers and Iza would not have to answer any other questions.

Any hope that actually practicing her mending would improve her sewing skills is dashed when she jabs the tip of her finger hard enough to draw blood. Iza hisses and pops her finger into her mouth. She raises the torn fabric to her face, examining it in the soft firelight, and takes some comfort in the fact that she had not stained it with blood _this time_.

"I am hopeless," Iza says to the egg.

The egg, of course, remains silent.

In the distance, Iza can hear the echoes of men's voices. She shifts on her knees, shuffling to the mouth of the cavern to peer at the sky – the sun is high. Iza curses, realizing she has lost track of time, and crawls around the cramped, smoky space to gather her mending into her basket.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she promises the egg, before she dashes across the craggy ground between the forest and the shining waters of the fjords. By some miracle, she manages to not lose her balance as she hurries along, heart hammering away in her chest as she forces her tired legs to keep going. She almost cannot believe she has been so thoughtless – on today of all days!

Thankfully, everyone else in the village is preoccupied with their own tasks that they pay Iza little mind as she weaves her way to the lower village, heading toward the docks where the boats are being readied for long travel. All around her, men are kitted in leather armor, horned metal helmets, and bags full of rationed smoked meat and travel bread. More than one man seems to be checking the weapons strapped to his body; others are giving lustful farewells to their wives and intendeds; and others still are ushering dirtied thralls along into the boats so that the slaves might be sold or traded at other outposts.

Today is the day the Vikings leave on another months-long raid.

It is their way, Iza knows, to pillage and plunder. The Vikings are warriors, but more than that, they are tasked with providing the village with the means to survive. Times are especially hard and, although sometimes distasteful, none of what the Vikings do on raids are held against them. It is more important that the men return home.

Iza's father is leading the raid, as usual. Her entire life, she has known her distant father as a fearsome Viking, one who seldom returns without the men he left with. As Chieftain, it is his duty to oversee the Vikings on their travels, and he does, heedless of the fact that doing so leaves his motherless child alone for months on end. Iza resents this reality, but does not know what can be done to change it. The substitute Chieftain – a son of a cousin of the Chieftain – is too young, inexperienced, and soft to fully replace Chalisław. And Iza is a women, not able to rule in any sense.

She does not think this is fair at all.

Still, as Iza carelessly drops her basket on the rocky shore, she is torn between relief that her father is leaving and wishing that he did not have to go. Iza pushes through the crowd, forging ever toward the flagship already removing its anchor from the dock. It is not difficult to locate her father's dark, braided beard and hardened expression as he talks with Mik, the substitute Chieftain whose ill-health has never allowed him to leave the village - even now, Mik looks wan and too-thin.

_No wonder Edvard is so favored_, Iza thinks fleetingly. She shakes off the strange stray thought and comes to a stop beside Mik, who spares her a wide-eyed, overwhelmed look. Discreetly, she touches her smallest finger to the back of his wrist, a silent reassurance that this raid would be no different than any of the others. After all, Mik knows he is only a figurehead when he is acting as substitute Chieftain; ever since his first assignment, he and Iza had come to the agreement that _Iza_ would be making all major decisions related to the village, not that any of the villagers – or her father – know this is the case.

Mik's shoulders relax marginally, his light eyes darting back to the Chieftain with a nervous nod to the last of Chalisław's reminders. "All will be handled as always," Mik manages under the Chieftain's weighted stare.

Chalisław grunts, then seems to notice Iza for the first time. His face colors beneath his beard. "You didn't have to come to see me off, Izabela," he says gruffly.

"It is tradition," Iza says simply. She has done the same since she was old enough to walk independently, has vivid memories of the salty sea breeze drying her tears when she was still young enough to be hurt by her father's absence. Now, seeing her father's boat safely meet the horizon is a cold comfort.

The Chieftain, a man of exceptionally few words, leans down to plant a brief kiss to the top of Iza's head, a rare act of affection before he departs with the rest of the Vikings. Iza stands side-by-side with Mik as the Vikings arrange themselves on the boats, shouting to the shore as they row away under the warm midday sun. They remain like that until the boats are in the distance, unlike other villagers who turn away and retreat back to their daily lives.

Mik is the one to break the silence. "The Chieftain wants to begin new measures to ward off the dragons," he relays.

Iza bites her inner lip, mind flashing to the illicit egg hidden in a cavern. She draws her shoulders back with a resolute nod, recalling overheard conversations with the village elders. She does not agree with the proposed strategy, but without an alternative idea, there is little that can be done than to abide by the Chieftain's orders. Not even Iza, pulling the substitute Chieftain's strings, can change that.

"I'll speak with Wilhelm in the morning," she mutters, quietly enough that not even the wind can carry her voice.

Mik nods, then falls silent.

Iza imagines they are both pondering their odd fates.

Hers, she thinks, is the most mired of the two. Especially now.

* * *

**A/N: So, often when the Vikings were off pillaging, they did leave someone behind to watch over their village, usually the successor of Chieftain who was both male and related by blood (or marriage). Sometimes, the substitute Chieftain would be too young for raids, too old to travel, injured, or otherwise unfit to be a real Viking. And while we're on Viking raids, some scholars theorize that the whole pillage and plundering thing was specifically because Vikings were searching for resources and women to bring back with them. And yes, Vikings _did_ take slaves (thralls) and trade them for money, crops, or other goods, if not to use the slaves for actual physical labor. Viking thralls often slept with the animals, though there are some accounts of slaves being freed and "legitimized" in Viking settlements by Vikings who saw value in a slave's skills. **

**Yes, Mik _is_ supposed to be Mike Newton. Yes, I am being mean by making him weak-willed and very sickly, but he always annoyed me in canon so he has it coming.**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~ Rae**


	6. six

**Six**

Wilhelm is not like other men in the village. He is dark-eyed and olive-skinned, shorter and more stout than most grown men, and he keeps himself clean shaven, although he allows his black hair to grow almost as long as a woman's. He also bears a brand over his right shoulder, a rune within a circle that betrays him as a man who has not always known freedom. Indeed, when Wilhelm arrived in Forks, he came as a slave of Iza's father, a man taken from his old life and thrust into a Viking settlement to be a laborer. It is only by the virtue of Wilhelm's unmatched blacksmithing skills that Chalisław gave Wilhelm his freedom.

Now, the Chieftain and the former slave are as close as brothers, and as such, Wilhelm has enjoyed a normal life for almost as long as Iza has been alive, as has his young son Jakob who Iza regards as a cousin of sorts. The truth is, Iza is closer to Jakob than any of her blood cousins for the fact that they share one dark commonality – they are both motherless, Jakob's mother dying in childbirth and Iza's disappearing shortly after her birth. She thinks, sometimes, being single fathers tasked with raising infants has made Chalisław and Wilhelm all the closer; after all, very few men in the village have been as hands-on with their offspring as the Chieftain and the blacksmith, as it is generally discouraged that fathers be involved with the rearing of their children.

Sometimes, of course, there is no other choice. Iza and Jakob's shared childhood is proof enough of that.

But it is for this very reason that Iza feels no anxiety as she approaches Wilhelm's hut – so very different from the other longhouses in the village – and the attached ford to ask after the progress he has made in the completion of the elder's rather inane project. Wilhelm understands better than most the importance of playing to expectations.

It has been some days, nearing two weeks, since the raiders departed and since the Chieftain left the village in Mik's – _Iza's_ – hands. The elders are growing impatient, nervous that it has been too long since a dragon attack and fretful that another will come as each night passes. Iza has no such concerns, really. Dragon attacks do not come so close together. She estimates there are many, many more nights before dragonfire again lights up the night sky. Still, despite there being plenty of time, she takes heed of the elder's concerns and has assured Mik that the smiths will be done soon enough. Today, she intends to find out how true her promise has been.

Wilhelm is working at the forge when she lets herself into the humid smithy, hammering away at a long, red-hot length of mixed iron as Jakob feeds the fire with soot-blackened hands. Only the blistering red-orange heat of the forge serves as light inside the cramped space. Iza is hard-pressed not to knock into any half-finished scraps of metal – helms and swords, mostly – as she wades deeper into the space.

Jakob is the first to notice her, nearly dropping the metal prod he uses to poke at the forge as he brightly yells, "Iza! You are here! It has been so long!"

Almost on reflex, Wilhelm barks out a daunting, "_Boy!"_ and Jakob jumps, fumbling for the prod to make the forge flames jump higher. He grins sheepishly at Iza over his father's shoulder.

Iza comes to a stop and waits until Wilhelm has finished hammering the reddened iron into a shape, dipping the metal into blackened water over and over until it has cooled sufficiently. Then she says, "I have come to check your progress of the project. The elders grow impatient."

Wilhelm grunts. "The elders are idiots. You should send them off to Ättestupa for all the good they do."

Iza grins wryly. "I am not sure the elders would agree, but if you would like, I can pass the message along."

"Can I be there to observe?" Jakob asks.

"_Boy!"_ Wilhelm barks again. "Are there any helpful thoughts in that head of yours?"

Jakob frowns. "I thought I was being helpful?"

Wilhelm rolls his eyes. "Show Iza where the elder's request is being kept. I have work to do." He pauses, glances up at Iza, and says gruffly, "Jakob is right. You should visit more often. We have not seen you very much while your father has been away and I have an oath to look after your safety."

Privately, Iza concedes that he is right. Usually, when the Chieftain is raiding, Iza spends most of her free time split between Wilhelm's forge and Alise's enduring company. This time, however, she has kept herself occupied in another way – she had not realized that her absence would draw attention and, since attention isn't good for her egg, she resolves to correct her oversight.

"I will share the evening meal with you soon," Iza promises.

At that, Wilhelm waves both Iza and Jakob away. Dutifully, Jakob shows her out of the forge and around the side of the squat hut where Wilhelm has seen fit to store the elder's project. Leaning against the longest wall of the hut is a selection of several woven screens of metal, as heavy and artless as the purpose they are intended to serve. Iza's lips turn downward as she considers the screens. According to Mik, these screens are to be placed over the animal pens in an effort to protect the livestock from being carried off by the dragons. Indeed, Iza has not closely observed dragon battle, but she is certain that caging the animals will not protect them from dragon fire. If anything, the elders have almost certainly doomed the livestock to being trapped.

Iza sighs, casting her eyes beseechingly to the clouds. Wilhelm was right; with an idea as idiotic as this one, the elders almost _deserve_ the Ättestupa. Jumping off a cliff is a _much_ better idea than _this_. But, she acknowledges privately, Iza cannot really see Mik suggesting the elders make themselves scarce so that they might unburden the village. She will have to remember to bring it up with her father when he returns.

That still leaves the problem of what to do with _this_. Since she cannot go against the elders or force Mik to do the same, Iza resigns herself to seeing to the distribution of these asinine screens.

"Jakob," she says.

"Iza."

"I want you to gather all the sons in the village and make sure that everyone with livestock has one of these _things_," she orders.

"Iza."

She clicks her tongue at the strangeness of his tone. "I know, it seems silly – and it _is _silly – but sometimes we have to listen to our elders, no matter how dumb they are. So, would you please just do this for me?"

"What? Sure, sure – yes, Iza, I will do as you ask but-" Jakob cuts himself off, gesturing helplessly at her with an expression of extreme confusion on his face.

"But _what_, Jakob?"

"But maybe you should see a healer?"

Iza narrows her eyes. "Sorry? A _healer_? For Odin's sake, Jakob, the screens are ridiculous but I am hardly in need of a healer because of them-"

"No!" Jakob says loudly, his eyes wide. He gestures at her again. "No, you do not need a healer for _that_ – just – if you continue scratching, your skin will fall off!"

Iza follows Jakob's dark gaze and watches numbly as her own nails drag along the dry, red, cracked skin of her forearm. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. As if her hand as a mind of its own, she continues to scratch at an itch, a phantom sort of feeling that is quickly spreading through her body now that she is paying attention. Her skin feels too tight, too confining. She has the strange urge to tear at her clothes and hair and –

And the world grinds to a halt.

Because these feelings are not Iza's.

This is the _egg_ that is itching at a cramped confinement. This is the _egg_ that wants the freedom of air across its naked body. This is the _egg_ reaching and stretching and cracking against a too-dry, too-dark, too-small shelter.

But no – not the egg.

The _dragon_.

Through sheer force of will, Iza curls her fingers into her palm to stop herself from scratching her arm raw. She does her best to ignore the itchiness of the rest of her skin and makes her lips turn into an apologetic smile. Her mouth forms words so false and stale she can almost taste them. "You know, Jakob, I think you are right. I should go see a healer. I am sorry for snapping at you…"

Jakob waves her off with friendly concern. "Sure, sure. You go and I will do as you ask to get these screens where they need to go."

"I owe you," Iza says woodenly, already marching away.

Dimly, she hears Jakob yell at her back, "I want smoked salmon!"

But the sound is distant – far-removed and far-away, a breeze between her ears that she pays no mind to. Iza is already running, hiking up her skirt as she races through the village and toward the cavern, her mind firmly locked on the crackling echo she can feel along her own skin.

The dragon is hatching.

* * *

**A/N: Literally, I was writing about being itchy and then _I was_ itchy. The brain is a strange thing. As to Viking Stuff In This Chapter, Ättestupa, in case it wasn't clarified in context, is basically ritual senicide wherein the eldest men in a Viking village would _honorably_ jump off a cliff. This is indeed a reference to Netflix's _Norsemen_. Other Viking Stuff - again with slaves, there are some accounts of Vikings freeing talented slaves and granting them something like citizenship except that these slaves _never_ left the settlements, they just weren't _slaves_ anymore, so it was like a _kind of_ freedom.  
**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~ Rae**


	7. seven

**Seven**

Iza is breathless when she reaches the cavern. Her knee is bleeding, her dress torn from a careless fall in her rush to get to the egg – to the dragon. There is a stitch in her ribs and her heart is pounding a loud drumbeat and her head is swimming from the irrepressible urge to _itchitchitch –_

And Iza doesn't care.

She doesn't care at all.

Any discomfort is totally worth the bloom of sheer _warmth_ in her chest. She is gasping, leaning hands on knees over the egg, which shivers in occasional movement that matches the creepy-crawl of phantom itch on her skin, and the only thing Iza truly feels is a fierce maternal sense.

This is _her_ dragon.

She's going to meet her dragon. Finally. She doesn't know whether the tight clutch in her chest is from excitement or fear – both, maybe.

Iza catches her breath, then hovers in anxious anticipation over the egg. The shell has changed again, no longer touched by red from the coals beneath, but also not the drab stone-like gray it had been before, when she narrowly avoided killing it. Now, the shell is sooty and dark, fine black fissures etching across the surface like veins. It's hard to tell in the muted light of the cavern, but it looks like the shell is getting darker by the second. Maybe her eyes are playing tricks on her. Maybe she-

All at once, the constant horrific itch on her skin halts and the egg ceases to shiver. She has the oddest feeling of sheer determination – a will to survive – that she at once recognizes does not belong to her. And then there is a phantom twinge in her skull, right at her crown, that she belatedly realizes is synchronized with the gently curved horns suddenly sticking out from the top of the egg.

The dragon is cracking the egg from the inside. With its head. It would be comical if not for the breathtaking majesty of the moment – Iza instinctively knows that she is witnessing something very special, something sacred. Something no human has ever seen.

Iza moves to sit on her knees and watches her egg hatch.

The process is not smooth. There are stops and starts and vague feelings of confusion from the baby dragon as, piece by piece, the shell breaks off. It takes a long time before Iza catches sight of the very top of the dragon's head, tiny shells and a flattened bit of something between the horns covered in some kind of viscous fluid. The top of the head disappears, but is soon replaced by a narrow snout with delicate slanted nostrils that sniff at the outside air curiously. Then just as quickly, the snout is gone and another surge of determination is followed by the entire head breaking through the shell.

And then Iza is eye-to-eye with a baby dragon.

And what she sees makes her head spin.

Because she remembers the dragon's mother and the two glowing green eyes staring at her from the darkness of a shadow. When she thought about the baby dragon inside the egg, she always imagined that the dragon would also have those green eyes bright enough to illuminate the night.

Iza was wrong.

The baby dragon looks at her from the egg with large, wide eyes set at a tilt – one eye a rich sun-cast amber and the other a crystalline blue as bright as a bolt of lightning, each eye neatly bisected by a black slit of a pupil.

One amber eye and one blue eye.

Just like Iza.

And Iza hardly has time to process _that_ because the baby dragon is looking up at her, kind of beseeching, and there is a sense of elation thoroughly mixed with befuddlement and a feeling of _want_ that Iza recognized all too well.

"Your mother is gone," she tells the dragon, a twist in her stomach when the dragon lets out a keen of mourning. No creature should ever make a sound like that. Iza has a moment of misplaced guilt for the dragon being an orphan before she sets it aside. "But I am here. I have been helping you. I am sorry if I have not done a very good job…"

The forlorn feeling ebbs from the dragon, replaced by acceptance and a flicker of recognition. The dragon knows her. And the dragon is excited to truly meet her.

Iza watches with wide eyes as an infantile frustration overcomes the dragon and its eyes flare briefly and the shell around the dragon begins to simply crumble into a fine grain of sand. She doesn't understand how until she catches sight of the tiny claws at the fore of each of the dragon's limbs; the claws glow as bright as the iron in Wilhelm's forge, and Iza would bet anything that those claws are just as hot. But before she can begin worrying about how to contain a dragon _who_ _can disintegrate things_, the claws fade into a shiny black and Iza abruptly finds herself with a lapful of warm baby dragon.

Her first thought is that, for such a small thing, the dragon is certainly very heavy. Strangely, the dragon is somehow heavier outside of its shell than inside and Iza cannot help releasing a breath as she registers the heft of the creature. The density is astounding, considering the fact that the baby dragon is only _just_ larger than her entire hand if she stretches her fingers as far and wide as possible.

But it is Iza's next thought that makes her heart catch on a beat.

The baby dragon _trusts_ her with an absolution that Iza has never known. The dragon _adores_ Iza immediately and seems to instinctually know what Iza has been slow to acknowledge – they are bonded. They are meant for each other. They will live together and they will die together.

Is this how it is for dragons? Iza has no idea. She is very much in new territory uncharted by any other person. She could ask Alise, she supposes, but Alise would probably end up telling Iza what the dragon has already silently communicated.

Iza and the dragon are family.

No.

No, not _the dragon_…

Iza frowns, her brows furrowed as she stares down at the creature sitting happily in her lap, long tail slowly waving back and forth as the dragon looks up at her – big, two-colored eyes meeting her own with an intelligence that would be alarming if Iza were not currently falling into a whirlwind within her own mind. There is a roaring in her ears, like a rush of wind, and for a brief moment Iza feels as though she is looking at herself – _pale and dismayed and two-colored –_

And then there is a tinkling, silvery sound between hear ears – a sound that is not a _sound_.

Iza knows it is the dragon. Talking to her in her mind.

_Eko_, it says.

Iza opens her mouth, maybe to point out that _eko _is not a word and that Iza most definitely does not understand dragon language – but her teeth clank together as she realizes that she apparently _can_ understand dragon language.

Because Eko is a name.

Eko is the dragon's name.

And Eko is female.

In the space of a breath, Iza suddenly knows as much about Eko as Eko knows about her. Things that Eko is instinctively aware of are now pieces of information that Iza will keep safeguarded.

Eko is a rare darkfrill, a breed of dragon with scales as pitch black as a moonless night and with abilities that are unique to each dragon. Eko has already shown an ability with her claws that is both exciting and worrisome, although Eko is rather ambivalent to what her feet can do. Eko does not know why she has named herself Eko – but this is perhaps because she is still so very young and unlearned, because _Iza_ as an abrupt, nearly prophetic insight to the dragon's naming. Gooseflesh rises on her skin when the idea pops into her head that Eko is called _Eko_ because of an innate ability to echo.

Iza does not know what that means. She cannot wrap her head around it. And anyway, the notion is quickly swallowed up by other knowledge, such as the fact that Eko needs meat and fruit and that she will sleep better in a fire and that she will only be able to achieve flight at night until she is older and – and so much more that Iza grows dizzy from it.

"Odin," Iza says, a low oath. "All-Father, why _me_?"

Her lament is met with silence and an inquisitive look from Eko.

"Do dragons pray to the Gods?" Iza wonders.

Eko tilts her head. There is a sense of confusion blooming in Iza's mind and she figures she has her answer. Dragons do not know the Gods. Or at least, _this_ dragon does not. Not yet, anyway. She will inevitably learn, given that she is now linked to Iza's every thought on a level that might have been intrusive if not for how very _comforting_ it is.

She sighs, staring at the dragon that is staring at her.

It is not only their eyes that are so similar. Iza also has pitch-dark hair, so utterly black that when it is wet, it seems to reflect all the colors around it. Eko's scales are similar, a subtle iridescence that gleams like a rainbow even in near-darkness.

Iza draws her finger over the frilled crest resting between Eko's tiny twin horns, following the frill as it traces over Eko's spine, growing thinner and thinner until it reaches her long, slender tail, where the frill grows in volume and rests in gentle folds. Iza figures the folds must spread during flight and help in balance. Eko also has two frills beneath her chin, on either side of her neck, that also seem capable of being flexed.

Iza is taken by the smooth quality of Eko's scales, both hard like granite and as soft as fresh-spun wool at the same time. She thought they might have felt oily or wet, but they are dry, layered over each other to lay flat. Some scales, like the ones around Eko's eyes and wings, are impossibly small, while the scales over her belly are larger and tougher. And just like her frills, the wings folded tightly against Eko's back are almost leathery. Iza tramps down the urge to explore the wings more thoroughly since she has the sense that they are very sensitive and still developing at the moment. Eko will not be ready for flight for some time.

Which means that the entirety of her well being is now Iza's responsibility.

Iza bites her lip, amused when Eko seems to try and mimic the action, though all the dragon does is end up flicking a dark violet forked tongue at Iza a few times before seeming to give up.

Something in Iza relaxes at the sheer innocence of the creature she now calls her own.

"Well, Eko," she says after a moment, smiling softly at the dragon. "Welcome to the world."

Eko lets loose a trilling happy sound at that and Iza's smile widens.

For that moment, it does not matter that Iza has no clue where she will hide the dragon or how she will protect the dragon or how she will even manage to take care of a dragon that requires constant attention as it cannot fend for itself.

All that matters is that Iza has Eko and that Eko has Iza.

The rest will sort itself out. The Norns will see to it.

* * *

**A/N: Eko is probably _really cute_, but since I can't draw dragons, I hope her description is good enough to do her justice. She's so small, but she's going to be so big and awesome and _cool_. Dragons!**

**Anyway, sorry about the delay in update. Real life has been - well, the internship is ending, a got a freelance writing job that takes up a lot of time, had to a crisis and then another crisis and it's just been _gah._ So. The updates will probably be pretty slow for a while. There just doesn't seem to be enough time in the day, you know?**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	8. eight

**Eight**

Iza has a choice to make. She spends countless minutes weighing the advantages and disadvantages of her options as she absently watches Eko find her balance, four clawed feet scrabbling against the cavern noisily.

A cavern is no place for an infant of any species to grow – but realistically, how long can Iza expect to keep a rambunctious dragon hidden in her own home? Still, the village has been giving her odd looks for her new habit of disappearing into the forest, something which she had been known for before, of course, but also something she now did thrice as often. And, she must admit to herself, if she cannot bring her dragon home when her father is away, then _when else_ could she do so? And frankly, she's been running herself ragged trying to find enough time between village matters and the cavern; if she brings Eko home, then she might have a little more time to sleep.

Decision made, Iza sets to the task of gathering her stray possessions into her basket. She sorts through all the bits of coal and kindling for ones that can be salvaged, and carefully wraps the flint she has been using to keep the fire going. Then she manages to coax Eko into the basket.

For her part, the dragon is bemused by the basket, scratching at the woven sides curiously and then trying – repeatedly – to crawl up Iza's arm. Many times, Iza has to quickly duck into the cover of a bush and firmly tell Eko to stay in the basket. She only succeeds when, quite on accident, a bushel of berries fall into the basket and claim Eko's attention.

Iza watches Eko devour the sour unripe-green of the berries with a certain relish for a moment, considering the opportunity now set before her. She does not know when next she will find the time to forage for food her dragon likes – and since Eko is already here and Iza has the time…

Well, perhaps it is not widely known to the village, but Iza is nothing if not an opportunist.

Iza picks her way through the best berry bushes in the forest, selecting ripe and unripe berries of many different varieties and dropping them into the basket. Soon, the basket is near overflowing with the berries and a few palm-sized apples that have fallen too soon from their trees. The foraging is more than enough to cover up Eko, who is content with her hoard of fruit. Iza, for once, does not look the least bit suspicious coming back to the forest. Any villagers who see her will correctly assume that she has been foraging for springtime fruits.

It is just not all she has been doing.

Near-elated, Iza arrives at the longhouse atop the highest hill and sets her basket on the roughhewn wooden table. She unloads the goods in the basket into wide wooden bowls, sorting the berries by type, and then unearths a dozing, swollen-bellied Eko, who seems to have eaten her fill and then some. Iza cradles the dragon to her breast and rouses her just enough so that Eko's two-toned eyes will take in her surroundings.

"This is our home. You can be free here, for a while. But if people come, you must hide. Do you understand?"

Eko seems to digest her words for a while before a confirmation, a sense of understanding, travels along their strange mental bond. The dragon seems to realize the importance of Iza's words, but mostly Eko is sleepy. She is so young and the day, although short, has been tiring. She must eat and sleep a lot while she is this small, as all baby dragons do.

"Do you want the fire?" Iza asks, feeling only slightly ridiculous for _talking to a baby dragon_.

Eko's sluggish acceptance has Iza gently depositing her dragon into the banked flame on her hearth. It is human instinct that has her hesitating to stoke the fire higher and it is human instinct that Iza must ruthlessly stomp out. Eko has already told Iza what she needs in order to survive. Sleeping in flame is one of those things and Iza should not hesitate to meet that demand if she is able.

So she builds the fire around her slumbering dragon and watches the orange flames lick languidly and ineffectually against Eko's glossy black scales. The sight is surreal enough that Iza stares for a moment too long. By the time she has shaken herself out of her stupor, she realizes that the sun is beginning to dip in the sky and that her stomach is growling loudly.

Resolute, she turns her back to her dragon and straightens the longhouse, storing the fruits and finding a seedy bread to sate her own hunger. She drinks two cups of water greedily, not realizing how thirsty she has been; after a moment of hesitation, she sets out a bowl of water for Eko as well, along with the berries that the dragon had seemed to favor just in case Eko woke during the night.

Iza will have to see to finding them both meat tomorrow, on top of her other duties – such as reporting to the elders, as she should have done this afternoon, and seeing to any problems Mik has come across during his daily dealings. As she changes for bed and pulls a wooden comb through her hair, Iza's mind roves restlessly. The springtime is very busy, as the planting season is about to begin and the whole village will be tasked with pitching in where able. Spring also sees trade from Vikings in other villages, who stop along Viking settlements on their way to raids, and while no tourists have imposed themselves yet, Iza knows it is only a matter of time. She makes a mental note to inventory the village's tradeable goods and coin so that she will be prepared when the time comes…

Iza is lulled to sleep by the thoughts of her ever-lasting agenda.

Her slumber is deep and restful, and when she wakes, it is to the dense, almost uncomfortable weight of Eko's body perching on her chest. Two-colored eyes stare at her inquisitively as Iza blinks the sleep out of her eyes, her mind alert as she remembers in a flash that yesterday she had _hatched a dragon_.

"Oh, _Frigg_."

Eko cocks her head to the side in a bird-like fashion.

"Nothing to worry about," Iza tells Eko.

She ignores the stray thought that she's trying to convince _herself_, and sets to preparing for the day. She thought it might have been more odd, chatting to a dragon about her plans for the morning as she brushes her hair and tightens the stays of her chest bindings – but it is not odd at all. It is almost comforting, maybe because she is able to voice her thoughts. Usually, when her father is home, Iza remains quiet in deference to his rest. Now, however, there is someone to share her thoughts with – thoughts that, if she is honest, sometimes rudely intrude upon her peace. She can be very anxious at times.

And while it stands to reason that she should be _more_ than anxious now – hiding a dragon in a village that dreads dragonfire – Iza finds that she can only be content. She hasn't felt this certain or secure since early childhood, when she was still ignorant of what it meant to be the Chieftain's daughter and sole heir to the village. Now, as an adult in the eyes of her peers, Iza finds that the burden she had been unaware of as a child is almost too heavy to bear.

Somehow, though, Eko's very existence eases the responsibilities she carries.

Perhaps because there is now something more important than Iza's responsibilities and the unspoken expectations she knows she is required to meet. Now there is Eko – and Eko is more important than _anything_.

Behind her, Eko trills and the sound is swiftly followed by a slow-blooming warmth spreading through Iza's body. Comfort, she realizes after a moment. Eko might not fully comprehend the complicated knot of Iza's inner-most thoughts, but she recognizes Iza's emotions on an instinctive level and unreservedly moves to support Iza in any way she can.

Iza has never had that type of companionship. Even Alise, her closest friend and confidant, is sometimes divided in her loyalty to Iza and the future the Norns see fit to show her.

Eko has no such duality. For Eko, there is only Iza.

Iza does not know how to return such trusting devotion from such an innocent creature. The best she can do is ensure Eko's safety and meet all of Eko's needs.

With that in mind, Iza moves to the wooden chest beside the door where her bow and quiver rest, waiting to be used. She hoists the bow over her breast, flipping her braid back over her shoulder, and straps the quiver tightly to her waist. Noting Eko's curious stare, she explains, "For hunting later. I cannot ask for extra meat from the Great Hall without raising suspicions – I have never been one to gorge myself on anything but fish, you see. So I will have to hunt for you myself."

Eko tilts her head, the frills on the underside of her chin and the top of her head flexing uncertainly.

Eyes wide, Iza hastens to reassure her dragon. "Oh, no! It's no trouble, I promise. I am a mediocre hunter, but I am skilled enough with the bow to fell enough to feed you. And I suppose it will be good practice for me…I have been meaning to elevate my skill for a while, but there has never been the time…"

No excuses now, she thinks to herself. She must feed her dragon. Already, she can feel the distant pang of Eko's hunger resounding in the back of her mind, proving to Iza that the berries from the previous day would not be enough to sate Eko for much longer. That thought in mind, Iza pointedly moves the bowl of berries to a more central position on the table with the firm instruction that Eko should eat when she feels hunger.

Eko seems to understand, moving eagerly to shove her face into the bowl, but the dragon stops mid-chew when she notices Iza move closer to the door. Eko senses that Iza is leaving and emits a sound not unlike a whine.

Iza frowns. "Well, you cannot come with me. The village would riot."

Eko's frills lay flat against her head.

"It is too soon. I must figure out a way to introduce you to the village without causing chaos – the situation will be very strange to them. Not everyone is as open-minded as Alise, and even she has yet to actually meet you…" Iza trails off with a soft sigh. "You will be safe here, Eko. Remain in the house until I return. I will be back soon. I promise."

And in truth, Iza does try to hurry through her day, anxious to return to the creature she harbors in her home.

Iza walks down the high hill to the visit proper, stopping off at Mik's home to collect him as she does each morning it is necessary to at least give the illusion that Mik is the substitute leader in the village. Her impatience must be obvious, since Mik immediately departs from his family's longhouse without delay, still buckling his pants around his soft middle and with a hunk of warm bread shoved into his mouth. He trots after Iza's quickened pace, chewing and swallowing and trying to speak around his breakfast. "What are we –"

"Docks. Elders. Great Hall." Iza casts a sharp eye over Mik's messy hair and the pink flush in his full cheeks.

He is, she thinks, the very picture of village privilege, having never known a day of true work or any hunger that lasted longer than mid-day. There are others in the village who have not been so blessed. Despite being second cousins, Iza finds that she cannot relate to Mik in this way; perhaps because she had an absent father and no motherly figure, Iza has struggled right along with the poorest in their village. She thinks it for the best, as she can understand the villager's needs in a way that is incomprehensible to Mik, but she also cannot help but compare Mik to the likes of Edvard or even Wilhelm and Jakob.

Iza turns her eyes forward with a sigh. "Hurry up, Mik. We have much to do today."

"R-right!"

Mik's presence, while necessary to maintain the illusion for the Elders, does slow her down a bit. All the same, Iza is nothing if not efficient when need be. Down at the docks, she quizzes the fishermen about their daily hauls and the condition of the waters. Have they seen any boats looking to come ashore? No, but she and the fishermen know that visitors will come sooner or later. She urges them to let _Mik_ know immediately if they catch sight of any touring Vikings. The fishermen, including the younger Jaspar who Alise is infatuated with, look at nervous, flustered, stammering Mik and smile at Iza knowingly – and then they send her off with two slender fish wrapped in cloth as thanks for her diligence. One of the older fishermen, a man who is recently a grandfather, even goes so far as to wink at Iza and insinuate that the villagers know who the _true_ substitute Chieftain is.

Which Iza takes some comfort in, since it doesn't seem that the Elders have the same knowledge. Although it is Iza who drags Mik to the Great Hall where the Elders spend their days arguing amongst themselves, the Elders – wizened old men who should seriously consider Ättestupa for the sake of the village – still look to Mik as if he has the authority. They seem to ignore the fact that Mik looks back to Iza before he answers any questions and the fact that Iza is the one who steps in with relevant updates of the goings-on of the village. And even after Iza speaks about the cages being shared to all the livestock farmers, the Elders still look to Mik and praise him for his hard work.

Iza merely grits her teeth and remains a respectful silence.

Mik, at least, looks apologetic when they leave the great stone hearth in the Great Hall in favor of the lean-to just around the back. He knows that Iza is being slighted for no reason other than her gender, but neither of them are in the position to deal with the Elders. The only one capable of _that_ is Chieftain – and Iza is painfully aware that her father expects her to be a wife, nothing more.

Not for the first time, she feels a mixture of sadness and anger for her mother, who had disappeared without a trace and left a hardened, mistrustful man in place of a father.

But there is nothing to be done about it. And so Iza reigns in her pride and holds onto her dignity as she helps Mik go over any complaints or issues he has received from villagers. They are simple matters, arguments between neighbors and worries over repairs for the longhouses after the long winter. Now is the time for the village to get their bearings, as once planting season begins in a few short weeks, there will only be time for toiling at the ground to make a plentiful harvest in the fall. Any repairs need to be made _now_, since there would be no time after the harvest either to take on bigger projects. Listening with a keen ear, Iza instructs Mik on how to advise the villagers.

He may not be a true leader, but Mik can follow Iza's directions. And he is loyal to her, understanding his place in this strange little farce they maintain. They are a team in a way – second cousins who are neither suited to the stations in life in which they were born.

A stay thought breezes through Iza's mind – a thought not belonging to her, she realizes after a beat, since the idea is only perposturous enough to belong to a baby dragon who does not yet understand the world. From her safety in the longhouse on the hill, Eko wonders why Iza does not marry Mik. Eko considers only that Iza is a woman who will soon be expected to marry and that Mik has made himself useful to Iza in a way that another man might not. Eko does not consider the fact that Iza might wish to marry for love – an idea Iza scarcely allows herself to entertain – and she does not consider the fact that Mik has his eye on a girl on the cusp of womanhood named Jess who will make a good wife for him.

True, Eko is right to assume that Iza would be able to keep her position as a leader in the village if she married Mik. But Iza cannot imagine binding herself to Mik only for the sake of keeping her position.

Especially since she isn't sure she even _wants_ her position in the first place. After all, Iza has only taken up a shadowed leadership in her father's absence simply because Mik is not capable of being the substitute Chieftain the village deserves.

What would Iza be doing if she were not looking after the village? Even with a dragon, she imagines that she would be working on her Eddas – the only spot of true joy in Iza's life, even if it did make her an outcast twice over with her peers.

But those are thoughts for another time – even thoughts for another lifetime.

It is after mid-day by the time Iza and Mik part ways, the village and the Elders taken care of for the moment. Mik is off to sate his hunger. Iza, on the other hand, doggedly treks to the forest after a quick inspection of her bow and arrows. Her day is only half-done. She still must hunt for the hungry dragon lurking in the back of her mind.

The moment Iza steps into the forest, she feels at home. There is a comfort she feels in nature that she does not feel in her father's longhouse. The towering trees and their twisting roots, the green-tinted sunlight dappling through the high boughs, the faint chirp of birds and the far-away trickle of the stream from the mountain river – all are more homely to Iza than her actual home.

But whether by habit or by her subconscious, Iza's feet take her along the path she walked on that stormy night months ago when Thor saw fit to strike and mark her. The forest, of course, is much different in the day than during a thundering night, but Iza instantly recognizes the place where she was struck by lightning the moment she steps into the small clearing. There is a deeply charred scar on the earth, still as fresh as the day it was bore into the ground by Thor's hammer.

Iza stares at the lightning-scarred ground, at the pattern that is mimicked in a pink scar on her skin, and finds herself unable to do much except breathe for several long moments. She drags her eyes away when she hears a faint crack in the underbrush and, without hesitation, readies her bow with an arrow. She takes aim at the the low roots of a bush not far away, waits for the slightest rustle, and then loosens her arrow.

There is a wet thunk and a small sound of pain as her arrow hits home. Iza moves on light feet, kneeling at the bush and dragging out a pheasant. She bows her head, grimly and efficiently breaking the creature's neck.

Iza takes no joy in the hunt. She already knows that she will not eat this kill. Eko can have the pheasant; Iza will eat the fish gifted to her by the fishermen. Her conscience will rest better for it.

Holding her breath out of squeamishness, Iza hurriedly skins and guts the pheasant, before placing her kill alongside the fish in her quiver. The bloodied bow is salvageable, she decides after checking the fletching and the arrowhead. She's glad for it. Nothing is more troublesome than making a balanced arrow.

Iza stands, brushing the dirt off her dark skirt, and turns around to head back to the village –

And stop short at the sight of the cloaked figure standing right over the center of the scarred earth. She makes to scream, but her breath is caught helplessly in her throat and she quickly finds that she is unable to make any noise at all.

Iza staggers back a step, and again finds her will subverted by something more powerful than herself.

The cloaked figure lowers the hood covering its face – and Iza finds herself helplessly blinking against the glow that momentarily blinds her eyes. And then when her mind makes the connection between what she is seeing and her own knowledge, she almost falls over.

Still unable to move or speak, she can only stare in shock as the figure – the man – steps forward with a smirk. "Come now, child," he says with a thread of amusement resonating in his whispery voice. "You act as if you are the only Halfling I have shown my face to in this quaint village. Oh, but certainly you are not. Curiously, my kin and I have been drawn to this place several times."

Iza can only stutter soundlessly, scarcely able to even blink.

"I am sure you know who I am," he muses, sending a quirked smile at her, as if thoroughly entertained by _something_. "I must say, I am a fan of your works – the _Eddas_, correct? Your storytelling is so thoughtful and so satisfyingly accurate. Have you ever thought on how strange that is? Ah, never you mind, child. A discussion for another time."

Seemingly to realize that Iza is not responding to him at all, the figure clucks his tongue and waves his hand lazily.

"Terribly rude of me," he says after Iza regains control over her own person again. He waits for Iza to regain her bearings, and then leans forward with his eyes alight in excitement. "You do know who I am, yes?"

Iza nods, a single jerk of her chin.

His smile widens to an unnatural slant. "Speak it, child. It is not often that mortals dare to say my name."

Iza inhales sharply and hopes that her shaking hands are not obvious. And then she draws on her courage and forces her voice to work. "Loki," she says. "You are Loki."

And Loki does as only Loki would do – he throws his head back and laughs in obvious delight.

* * *

**A/N: And that's an update! The end was a surprise for me, too! Loki will be explained more in the next chapter.**

**I'd like to apologize for the delay in updates. It's not my usual while I'm writing something new unless I'm struggling with the plot - and _I'm not struggling with this plot. _However, RL has been...hectic. New job, new fires to put out, new anxieties. I've also be *finally* formally diagnosed as having bipolar II disorder, so I'm also adjusting to medications and all that fun stuff. It's a relief to know what's been going on with me for the last few years, but it's also kind of exhausting and terrifying. I'll adapt! Anyway. The next update should be sometime in May, hopefully in a week. We'll see. Thank you to everyone for your patience. And sorry if there was some repetition or contradictions in this chapter - it's been a while since I worked on this story. **

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~ Rae**


	9. nine

**Nine**

Iza has always been fascinated by the parables told by the Elders during feast times. It is, she thinks, one of their only useful purposes. The ability to pass down the knowledge and myths of their people is invaluable – certainly something that Iza strives to do in writing her Eddas to record the tales of her people so that they might be remembered far into the future.

And while Iza has always been suitably impressed by the stories about Odin and Frigg and Thor, she has also been guiltily entertained by the stories about Loki. In many ways, the antics of the half-Jotunn god are the kind of forbidden fruit that children feast upon.

Loki is the mischievous spirit of childhood. Loki is a changeling, a shapeshifter, a trickster. Loki is a wheel of change, a catalyst of progress, the chaos that is driven by idle hands. Good and bad things follow Loki and in every tale he is the pure essence of neutrality.

Loki does not look like Iza imagined, though.

The stories sometimes say he is as blue and tall as a true frost giant; others claim he is an old man with a twirled mustache and sharpened teeth and twinkling eyes. But the legends are only right about the spark of humor hiding in his cat-green eyes. Loki as he presents himself to Iza is a man in his prime, with snow-pale skin and long glossy black hair. While handsome, Loki's features are all sharp and narrow, just like his long limbs and pointed black leather armor. He is certainly an arresting sight and emits an otherworldly glow that makes Iza's head spin.

He looks at her like one might look at a particularly cute sheep. Dumb and innocent and ready to be led to slaughter without knowing it.

Iza wants to take a step back, to flee, to forget Loki ever saw fit to show himself to her mortal eyes. But she resists that cowardly urge, a splint of iron in her spin making her stand tall and meet Loki's ethereal green eyes as gamely as possible.

At this, Loki's already too-wide smile grows, the thin curve of his lips cutting into his cheeks with a glee almost grotesque. "Oh, you _are_ a fun one, child. If only all Halflings were half as brave as you…Although, I should not be surprised knowing whose blood runs through your feeble mortal veins. I wonder, can your tiny mind even comprehend what I say to you or what you are? Perhaps you are struck dumb and mute by me – many have been before, you know."

Loki is baiting her, as Loki is wont to do. There are many things he says that beckons her attention, but it would be foolish to let herself be distracted by the God of Lies, the embodiment of cunning, the Silvertongue himself. Curiosity led by Loki, as she knows from the tales, is a path that leads to peril.

So Iza bites back the questions burning on her tongue and swallows them down, tucking them away to think about later. Instead, she asks, "Why have you chosen to speak with me?" Unasked and unspoken, she also wonders why the trickster is trying to trick her – unless he is telling the truth and masking it as a lie, that is.

Loki laughs again, too long and too loud. The sound hurts her ears. "You are a marvelous plaything for a mortal," he tells her, moving to walk around her in a wide circle.

Iza is careful to keep Loki in her line of sight at all times, though she isn't arrogant enough to think that doing so ensures any protection. Loki uses seidr, the only other god aside from the Allfather to do so, and at a much grander scale than any of the women blessed with seidr in the village. If he wanted to, Loki could kill her for his own amusement before she could so much as blink an eye.

She is very aware of the danger she finds herself in and it does not escape her notice that Loki is cleverly using her own aversion to his nearness to herd her into the center of the earth scarred by Thor's lightning. She feels like she is on a precipice and silently vows to tread as carefully as she dares.

"I do not pray to you," she says to Loki, a frown deepening on her face. "And I do not think you would answer the prayers of your kin for any good reason. Yet here you are."

"Yet here I am," Loki agrees. He tilts his head at her, chuckling to himself. "Look at you – a Halfling keeping your wits in the face of my glory. Yes, both surprising and not surprising at all."

Iza says nothing. She keeps her eyes on Loki.

"You ask why I choose to speak to you…Do you not think I would be intrigued by the child who hatched a dragon?"

In truth, it had not even occurred to Iza that the gods themselves might have been paying attention to every oath she has sent to them over the last few weeks. She does not know whether to be flattered or concerned – mortals who draw godly attention do not always fare well in the stories and she has found herself of being in the unenviable position of drawing the attention of the most whimsical god.

Her confusion must be palpable, because Loki adds, "I am familiar with birthing unusual creatures."

And of course Iza knows this – Loki had born a wraith goddess, a wolf, a serpent, and a horse of his own body and blood. He certainly has more experience than the other gods, Frigg included.

"Your plight is one that intrigues me," Loki continues airily with an eerie smile. "A mother to a dragon and a mortal touched by Thor all in one. Yes, yes, _very_ interesting."

Iza does not know why a _God_ would find her life interesting and is bold enough to say so.

At that, Loki's visage melts into one of severe solemnity. "My kin and I have been watching you for a long while. The other Halflings are not as entertaining or as challenging. Whereas they know their true natures, you remain ignorant of yours. How could we not marvel at your very existence?"

Iza bristles. "You speak as though I blunder along with all the intent of a toddler."

Loki offers her a pitying look. "Is that _not_ the case? In our ancient eyes, you are nothing more than an infant – a child that desperately needs guidance. _That_ is why I show myself to you."

"The guidance of a trickster is fraught with peril," Iza is compelled to point out.

"So bold," Loki muses, his mood shifting once again. Now, he is almost playful as he prances a half-step closer to where Iza stands. He reaches behind his back, digging into the shadows of his heavy cloak, and presents to Iza a quiver and bow of the like she has never seen before.

Larger than her own, the bow Loki gifts to her is tall and carved with runes that sink into the grain of the rowan wood, the heft half as light as it seems; likewise, the quiver is narrower and more delicate than her own, the supple black leather filled with arrows made of yew and holly and blackthorn and fletched with feathers in bold colors that she has never seen on birds. There are only two of each arrow, but Loki is quick to demonstrate that the quiver is able to replenish itself due to a spell cast by the trickster himself. Loki tells her that each arrow has a purpose, so she should be careful and certain when drawing her bowstring lest she loose an arrow that was meant for another moment. He lazily assures her that she will figure it out and then shoves the bow and quiver at her until she has no choice but to accept them.

"Why?" Iza asks numbly as she holds the god-gifted weapon in her hands.

"The Norns watch over you," Loki replies. "And my kin are invested in your continued survival."

"But…_why_?" Iza asks again, this time helplessly. "I am just mortal, as you said. I am…nothing. I…I do not understand-"

"You are not _just_ anything, child," Loki interrupts with a strange glint in his eye. "None of us are. We are all at the mercy of the Norns – and you had better learn _that_ sooner rather than later."

Iza's fingers tighten around the bow and her jaw clenches – because that _sounded_ like a warning. Or a threat. Both, maybe, considering who she was speaking with. Trust Loki to give her advice that sounds foreboding enough to make her doubt his intentions.

Seeming to sense her continued confusion, Loki heaves out a bored sigh. "Oh by the Allfather! Mortals are so _slow_ and I am bored now," he grouches. He reaches back to flip his hood over his face again, leaving two shining, glowing green eyes staring at her from the shadows. Although she cannot see his face, based on his tone, Iza imagines that he is once again sporting that unnatural too-wide smirk. "I will be seeing your later."

And just like that, the God of Mischief and Lies disappears – he vanishes between one heartbeat and the next as if he had never been in the first place, leaving Iza to dizzily doubt that he'd ever been there. The only saving grace for her sanity is the bow and quiver in her hand, the God-given gifts she has received.

Iza's mouth is dry, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, her pulse loud in her eardrums.

Had that truly just happened?

It had.

Loki visited her – spoke with her in riddles and gave her gifts and had seemed almost helpful.

Loki…

_Oh_.

Iza's two-toned wide eyes drop down to the bow and quiver and her stomach drops. Loki had _given her gifts_. Obvious gifts. Obvious, exceptionally noticeable gifts, because _no one in the village has anything as elegant as this_. And the weapon _is_ elegant, finely carved and smooth to the touch and clearly something that isn't common to Forks.

Iza feels a little faint. First she has to hide a dragon, and now she has to hide God-given weapons. A high, incredulous sound escapes her throat as she fumbles with the feather-light bow and the slender quiver. She casts her eye to the sky looming beyond the thicket of trees and feels more than a little relieved that the sun has already begun to set. Spring makes for longer days, but if Iza has stayed out this long, then by the time she reaches the edge of the village, she will at least have darkness working in her favor. She can use the cover of shadows to smuggle Loki's _presents_ into her home.

And then, once she was safe from view, she could figure out what in Odin's name she's going to do with the surreal, rapid turn her life seems to be taking.

For a moment, the immense weight of her responsibilities makes Iza's shoulders slump forward. There is…so much.

Everyday, all the time, she must swallow her pride and pretend to stay in her place – and she'd grown used to that, had found _comfort_ in the farce and the fact that she could hide her ambitions behind a careful dance of mediocracy. It hadn't been _great_ and she frequently chafed against the shackles of her gender. It had always helped – somewhat – to know that Vikings treated their women with more equality than the men of other lands. But there is still always that lingering expectation that Iza _must_ listen to her father and to the elders and, one day, to her husband; and despite whatever she might desire, she and all the other girls in the village know that it is their _duty_ to bear sons. And she loathes it. Resents it. Abhors all the implications of it.

Because Iza knows – _she knows_ – she is just as capable as any man. Perhaps not as a hunter, perhaps not as a _leader_ in the typical sense, but she knows her mind is nimble. And knowing that has given Iza a streak of independence that she always struggles to counterbalance against the general restrictions of her life – whether by skill or by birth, Iza has always found herself somehow lacking.

And so she strives and perseveres and takes on duty after duty after endless duty – possibly in an attempt at defiance, even if it is never recognized.

But…

But _this_…This _situation_ with her dragon and living Gods speaking face-to-face with her and the lurking suspicion that she is walking down a path untraveled…

This is more than a little difference from the weight she usually carries.

By the Gods, but _why_ have the Norns chosen _her_ of all people? Surely there is someone better suited. Off the top of her head, Iza can name a dozen from the village that are better prepared to dally with their deities.

And yet, it is Iza who is being tested. It is Iza who is being challenged. It is Iza and Iza alone.

A deep frown mars her pale face as her mind spins in whirlwind circles.

She is driving herself crazy trying to figure this out – and in the end, does it truly matter _why_ she has been singled out by the Norns? First Thor and now Loki, with a gift from each of them. She might even consider Eko a gift from Frigg – or from Hel, all things considered.

Why Iza?

Well. What had Loki called her? A _Halfling_?

Iza's mind churns. _Half of what_?_ Half crazy? I certainly feel that way_.

Heaving a sigh so heavy she can feel her lungs protesting against the sudden expansion, Iza shakes her head. For the moment, none of this is important. She is tired from the long day and hungry in spite of the salty, pungent smell emanating from her old quiver. She can also feel Eko's curiosity and impatience scratching along the back of her mind and, at that, feels a tender pinch of guilt for leaving the dragon alone all day.

She needs to go home. She wants to go home. And so she does, slinking along the shadows of the trees and then darting to the longhouse on the highest hill. She ducks inside after a would-be casual glance over her shoulder, breathing a sigh of relief once it is clear that it is late enough that she has likely gone unseen.

Which is a very good thing, since Eko barely waits for Iza to close the door before circling her legs with quivering wings and a high-pitched trill that almost feels like a greeting. The surge of affection and happiness that thrums through her bond with Eko almost makes Iza cry – she does not think that any creature alive has ever been so happy to see her.

But Iza is not prone to crying and she ignores the tingling burn behind her eyes in favor of kneeling down to pick Eko up so that she can hold the dragon to her chest. After a few minutes, Eko begins to wriggle around; Iza is quick to release her hold, but somehow is not the least bit surprised when Eko manages to scale her way up to Iza's shoulders. Eko lays across her shoulders, warm belly against her neck, her tail wrapped loosely around her neck.

Eko's weight is a welcome change from the other kind of weight that is usually on her shoulders.

Iza suppresses a smile. Instead, she works both bows off her torso and unbuckles the quivers from her waist. "I hope you like pheasant," she says to Eko as she unloads the quiver, separating the gleaming leather and wood of Loki's gifts from the meat. She pauses as she unwraps the pheasant, glancing at Eko out of the corner of her eye. "Would you prefer it cooked, I wonder?"

Eko, for her part, doesn't seem to have a preference. But Iza has seen dragons eat before when they attack the livestock of the village and knows that _raw_ is not the way they usually eat. Not wanting to make either of them ill, Iza cooks both the fish and the pheasant until they are evenly charred on both sides. Iza is decidedly not a cook, however, and _charred_ is a generous term for what she has done to their dinner. But, she reflects as she takes a hearty bite, at least the meat is edible and not likely to poison either of them.

It isn't until after Iza has carefully eaten around fishbones and watched Eko munch unphased on the pheasant bones that Iza turns her attention to Loki's gifts. Her shift of focus is echoed in Eko, who abandons the bones in favor of sniffing and pawing at the glossy wood of the bow.

Much to Iza's amazement, Eko radiates a strange sense of recognition and wariness at the bow and quiver. Eko's body language shifts, her head hunkering down between her wings, her two-toned eyes shining with the same trepidation as Iza's.

"I agree," Iza says in response to Eko's abrupt shift. "It is strange. But…it is also useful, right? I suppose there must be a reason these were gifted to me. I should probably use them."

Eko blinks at her, her frills halfway between lying flat and standing straight up.

"I will have to do something to them, though. There isn't anything near as nice in the village," she muses, leaning her elbows on the table and stifling a yawn into her palm.

Eko's mouth opens wide – a clear mimicry of Iza's very human action.

Iza laughs mirthfully at her dragon.

Excited, Eko's claws scratch against the table as she skitters around, her long tail sweeping across the surface and sending the remnants of their dinner crashing against the floor. Surprised at the sound, Eko's frills perk forward and her claws begin to glow as brightly as the white flame at the center of the hearth – and where the claws touch the table, the wood begins to crumble away in gouges the size of Eko's feet.

"Eko!" Iza cries out in alarm, watching in horrified fascination as Eko tries to dance out of her own destruction, claws still glowing as the table alternately crumbles to pieces and begins to catch on fire. Thinking quickly, Iza snatches Eko up, holding the dragon beneath her arms with her feet facing away from Iza's body.

Both girl and dragon watch half of the table smolder – stunned for a long moment in which Iza can only dumbly recall that Eko had done much the same to her own _shell_. She sincerely hopes that the table is the only casualty of Eko's unique gift, but she suspects that the table is only the first in a long line of baby dragon mishaps.

It isn't until Eko calms down – no longer startled and panicking – and her claws fade back to glossy black that Iza is able to dump water onto the table and clean up the resulting mess. By the time she finishes mopping up the water, the length of the day catches up to her. It's all she can do to change into her shift and feed the hearth for Eko's slumber before she collapses onto the flat of her mattress, almost asleep before she can even cover herself with a blanket.

But in that brief moment between being awake and asleep, Iza's fatigued mind lights up with solutions to all of her concerns – and she rests easy, finding comfort in the reconciliation of her clarified thoughts.

Tomorrow will be a new day, the first of a new, terrifyingly exciting era.

And not just for Iza.

* * *

**A/N: Man, raising a baby dragon who has spontaneous combustion/destruction feet cannot be easy! Hope Eko gets that shit under control pretty quick! **

**Alright, the main Norse deity in this chapter is Loki. What to say about Loki? He's a pretty ambiguous figure in traditional Norse mythology. As indicated in the chapter, he's a trickster God with shapeshifting powers and is frequently the catalyst to many Norse parables and tales. He's also more mystic than a lot of other Norse figures, which is saying something because Norse mythology is, in general, pretty _trippy. _For example, Loki gave birth to the goddess of Hel (Hel or Hela, depending on your source), gave birth to the wolf Fenrir, and the world serpent Jörmungandr that basically holds the mortal world together by squeezing it _really tight, _as well as giving birth as a _mare (_female horse) to the eight-legged horse Sleipnir, who Odin restrains/rides as punishment for Loki pissing him off (or something?). Like, Loki is one of the _very few male mythological_ _figures_ who give birth across all of the old pagan religions - Zeus is another figure that comes to mind with the birth of Athena, but all of Loki's births are pretty literal. It's interesting if you consider the Norse attitude toward gender equality, which is at times both impressively progressive and extremely convoluted. Anyway, Loki also sees some pretty fucked up punishments by Odin in traditional myths, such as being force-fed poison from his own snake-son by his wife Sigyn, which basically starts Ragnarok in some tales. But Loki also once turned Thor into a woman to teach some mortals (and Thor) a lesson and he played a really mean trick on Thor's wife Sif, the goddess of the harvest, that involves her hair. And as Iza mentioned, Loki is the only other Norse God other than Odin who practices "woman's magic", as all the other Norse deities are gifted but not _magic_. So. Loki as a Norse figure takes up about as much of a chunk of importance in the Eddas as Odin himself. I would even argue that Loki plays a larger part than the All-Father, but that's just my opinion. The point is that Loki is traditionally a polarizing figure - a true neutral character who is neither wholly evil or wholly good. He's very interesting. **

**Now. Should we trust this Loki? Who the Hel knows?! He's _Loki_! **

**As to my personal life - thank you all for your kind words! For those wondering, I'm still adjusting to my meds but I have definitely noticed a distinct difference, which is promising and kind of a relief. I'm feeling both more _myself_ and more unbalanced at the same time, so...Nothing more to do than keep going forward, I guess. **

**Anyway, as always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	10. ten

**Ten**

Edvard had once asked Odin for a sign – any sign at all.

But he does not think it is Odin who has answered his prayers. No, surely this meeting is the result of the interference of another. Frigg or the Norns. Maybe Heimdallr. Surely _one_ of the gods gifted in foresight had engineered _yet another_ chance meeting like this.

Because there is no other reason why, in the span of two Thor's days, Edvard has run into Izabela in the forest around Forks no less than seven times. He does not think he's seen the girl so much in his life, and certainly not so much so close together.

Definitely not when he is hunting. And _most assuredly_ not when _she_ is hunting as well.

He has the fleeting thought that, of all the things he knows about Izabela from observation, he was almost sure that huntress was not a title she claimed. And yet there is evidence to the contrary – seven different instances of evidence.

And, he privately marvels, the game she is hunting is…so _small_. Prey animals are not typical hunting fare. Honestly, hunting prey animals simply is not worth the effort. Edvard has not captured prey animals since he was a young boy, and even then he was bored by the experience.

But Izabela has hunted prey animals no less than seven times. Eight, if he counts today.

Seeming to sense his confusion, Izabela shifts, partially hiding her kill behind her back. "I am sorry if I have ruined your hunt," she says.

"You have not," he finds himself muttering, his brows furrowed as he stares at Izabela from across the felled tree in this clearing. Something is different about her. Something has _been_ different about her for weeks and weeks at this point. Her behavior has been decidedly _odd_, but not outright strange. Just…a little unusual.

He wonders what might have caused the change.

"I am practicing," she tells him after an awkward beat, her small feet shuffling against the dewy grass and moist dirt.

"Practicing," Edvard repeats, testing the word out on his tongue as if he can taste the truth.

"Yes. I…wish to be better with the bow."

"I see," he says. There is nothing suspicious about practicing or hunting for sport or really _anything_ Izabela has been doing. And privately, he can agree that she _does_ need the practice.

But there is something off in the way she continually shifts on her feet, as if she has been caught doing something that she should not be doing. The fidgeting is entirely unlike the girl he has admired from afar from so long, but all the same, Edvard doubts that any other villager would notice how awkward Izabela is as she stares back at him and utters out-of-place explanations to him. He is not ashamed to admit that he pays a lot of attention to Izabela. He is confident that he knows her well, even if they have not spoken often.

What is she up to?

Edvard had thought Izabela was done with the sneaking around she had kept up for a while a few weeks back. One day, she had simply ceased stealing time in the forest for hours at a time and had gone back to running around the village, managing everything through Mik right under the Elder's noses. At seeing that, Edvard had assumed that she had lost interest in whatever had captured her attention.

He can see that he's wrong, now. She had not _stopped_; she had simply started doing something _different_.

Edvard represses a sigh.

Even Alise with her cryptic comments is not nearly as mysterious as Izabela.

Dark hair escapes her hasty braid, falling across a flushed cheek as she looks away from him, her two-toned eyes scanning the trees.

She never has made a habit of looking at Edvard directly for more than a moment or two. It's always been endlessly frustrating for him – even more so now, with his feelings for her so complex, always bubbling beneath the surface any time he finds himself in her presence.

He wants her to look at him. To see him.

But he also is gratified to look at _her_ without being under her unnerving stare. She is…so beautiful.

Mysterious, gorgeous, unassuming, determined Izabela. The Chieftain's daughter. A girl – woman – beyond compare.

_I will unravel her one day_, he thinks, although even as the thought passes through his head he feels a certain sinking sense of doubt. No. Izabela is not one to be unraveled. Least of all by him.

"Right. Well." Izabella moves again, the bow half-hidden behind her back shifting to one hand. "I should…be on my way and allow you to hunt in peace."

Edvard dips his head silently, watching her leave with hawkish green eyes.

That bow and quiver…even those arrows…He might be mistaken, but they seem very different from the set Izabela used to carry. For one, this set is far more filthy, which Edvard finds unusual; for another, she only has only had three arrows each time he has seen her hunting, which is just poor planning on her part. Edvard himself always carries an even dozen in his quiver, even though he is more talented with a spear or longsword than he is with the bow.

Not for the first time, Edvard senses that he is missing _something_.

Days later, when he happens to be passing the Chieftain's longhouse on his way to hunt and hears the oddest combination of screeching and Izabela's scolding tone, he resolves that he _will_ find out.

Soon. Even if he must out his own secret in the process.

* * *

**A/N: Poor Edvard, so confused and always getting the shortest chapters. But I see his perspective as a transitional tool and I will shamelessly continue to use in as such. **

**Norse mythical figures in this chapter include Heimdallr. Forget almost everything you know about Heimdall from the MCU, because Heimdallr in Norse mythology is nothing like him. Aside from the gold armor bit and guarding the Bifrost and being able to see, like, the entire universe bit and the future. Aside from those three things, the original Heimdallr was something of a neutral, but mysterious figure in Norse myth. Like, Heimdallr was foretold to kill Loki after Ragnarok and apparently once battled Loki in the form of a seal - like, a freaking _seal of all things_ \- on Freyja's behalf. He's not actually related to the All-Father by birth or blood, but is actually the son of the Nine Mothers (which are interchangeably the Nine Realms or the ocean). Heimdallr also had gold teeth and is apparently responsible for giving humanity social classes, so the next time you're feeling the burn of economic inequality, you can totally curse Heimdallr. **

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	11. eleven

**Eleven**

"You really _must_ learn to control yourself, Eko. I am running out of furniture. How will I explain this to my father?"

Eko's frills push back on her head and Iza sighs.

"I am not _angry_," she assures her dragon, her shoulders slumping forward with a sigh. "I am concerned. I do not understand why this continues to happen."

Except – well, she does _almost_ understand. Eko is young and rambunctious and playful, but she is also very easily startled by her own antics. It would be adorable if it was not so shockingly destructive.

Iza has been trying to work with Eko on this, an effort that is mostly spurred by fact the that Chieftain's longhouse is sustaining an amazing amount of damage from such a small creature. Iza is glad that the raiding season will continue through the summer months until the autumn, because at least she stands a slight chance of replacing some of the damaged items. She might have to wheedle Jakob into helping, but her cousin is easily bribed and has never made a habit of asking too many questions.

Of course, Jakob _might_ start asking questions when Iza's favors change from new tables, chests, and bowls, to replacing the flooring and half of the stones around the hearth. There is a decidedly stark difference in replacing furniture and replacing the actual structure of the house.

At that thought, Iza favors Eko with a narrow-eye glance. "How do we make this stop?" she asks the dragon.

Eko's wings, which are normally pinned to her back, flutter slightly. It almost looks like a shrug, if dragons _could_ shrug. And although the dragon cannot mentally – or otherwise – verbalize it, a breezy notion floats through Iza's head. Eko feels badly for her continued destruction; and if she could do something about it, she would.

But Eko is still a _baby_. And as Iza has observed from the harassed mothers in the village, babies cannot be held responsible for their actions. Remembering this is something of a comfort to Iza, who is feeling more and more uncharacteristically flustered by each new challenge Eko presents her with – whether that is Eko's intention or not.

Still, she cannot help but to hope that dragons age faster than humans. It would be nice if all the skills and knowledge hidden within the instincts of Eko's being would come forth along with her maturity, and the faster the better. Except, Iza amends with chagrin, not _too fast_, because she still has no idea how to hide a fully grown dragon in a village that loathes the creatures.

Feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders, Iza releases a long, drawn-out sigh. There always seems to be _something else_.

At her feet, Eko noses at the half-crumbled stone that had fallen from the hearth only minutes before. Her tiny, dark tongue pokes out to taste the ash on the stone, once and then twice before the dragon rears back and makes a noise that is nearly a sneeze. Iza watches all of this with a certain impassive air, almost waiting for the next disaster to strike.

Which is exactly why she does not jolt when three raps sound against the door of the longhouse – even beneath the momentary panic that someone would see her dragon, a much larger part of Iza is braced for this very occurrence. Her shoulders tense before she manages to unclench her jaw and send Eko a pointed look with narrowed eyes. Iza turns toward the door, confident that Eko will hide herself, and gives herself a moment to paste on a mild expression.

But then the door is opening from the other side and Iza registers that Eko is still halfway between the living area and Iza's sleeping area – and Iza is _not ready_ –

Then she sees who has the audacity to open the Chieftain's door.

Iza feels herself visibly deflate at the sight of Alise bouncing on the balls of her feet with a basket of laundry in her arms. Alise's eyes, which are round and always seem to see too much, barely even blink when she catches a glimpse of Eko over Iza's shoulder as she makes her way into the longhouse.

"Oh," Alise says with a tiny smile. "Is that what a baby dragon looks like? Much cuter than our infants."

Iza hurries to close the door behind Alise, hissing at her back to _be quiet, for Odin's sake!_

Alise waves her concern away as unbothered as she does anything, sparing Eko one more curious glance before turning to Iza and saying, "Today is washing day. You are late, so I have come to you. It's a nice change of pace. I saw Jaspar at the docks on the way, which makes me think perhaps I should visit you more often. He is more blond in the sun. I always forget…Iza…?"

"Yes?"

Alise stares at her, brow knit in concern. "Why are you just standing there? We need to get going. The sun will not last all day today and we must be back long before the sun sets behind the mountain."

Iza had not realized she was staring at Alise in stupefaction, but she cannot say she is surprised that is the case. Only Alise, she thinks, would be as cool-headed about being within ten feet of a dragon, baby or not. After a moment, it occurs to Iza that _Alise_ was perhaps more prepared for this meeting than anyone else in the room – undoubtedly the Norns themselves are to thank for that. Perhaps even Frigg has had a hand in weaving this moment.

Iza should be less surprised than she is.

And that is why she moves without thinking, picking her way around Eko's debris to gather her laundry and mending and the soaps she has been meaning to pass along to Alise. After a moment, Eko begins to follow at Iza's heels, sticking close but still sparing several long curious looks at Alise from behind Iza's ankles.

"Her eyes are like yours," Alise comments to fill the silence. "How odd. You could pass for her mother, you know. You share many features."

"Save the scales."

"Well, yes," Alise agrees lightly. Alise's too-seeing eyes rove over the longhouse from where she stands near the closed door. "Is all of this from the dragon?"

"Eko," Iza corrects quietly.

Hearing her name, Eko's head tilts and her two-toned eyes dart between the two young women. She seems to be following the conversation as well as possible for a dragon who is still learning how to comprehend the human tongue – Eko can understand Iza's thoughts just fine, but she seems to struggle with Iza's _words_. She is learning much quicker than Iza had expected, however. Her dragon is very intelligent.

Alise hums. "Yes, _Eko_…Is she responsible for all of this?"

Iza huffs, tossing a dirtied breast band into the basket. She has more soiled clothing than usual since part of her early mornings have been spent at the farms in the village, helping toil the ground and plant seeds. It is backbreaking work on top of her other responsibilities and her continued worry about Eko, but everyone in the village pulls their weight during planting season and the harvest. At least Iza does not have to lug buckets of water to and from the river like the younger men and boys. And now that she is no longer a child, she is not forced into taking care of squalling infants while their mothers work the land.

Still, all of her clothing, even what she is currently wearing, has certainly seen better – and cleaner – days.

To answer Alise's question, Iza mutters, "Her claws are…unique. Responsive to her mood. She cannot control it."

Alise's eyes flit between ashes, rubble, and charred wood. "What exactly happens?"

Iza makes a face at Alise's fascinated tone. "What doesn't? Things melt or burst into flame. She can break down metal and stone as easily as fabric and wood. And she is so frightened by it…"

Alise makes a low noise of understanding, a small hum in the back of her throat. "Well. Perhaps she needs a change of scenery."

Iza stops still at Alise's lazy suggestion. She turns her head to stare at her closest childhood friend. "Alise?"

Alise delicately lifts a shoulder. "Dragons are wild creatures, are they not? She has gone from a cave to a wooden house. I do not know what her natural habitat might be, but should she not be among nature? She might feel better."

Iza looks down at Eko and Eko looks up at her.

Truly, Iza has felt bad about keeping Eko confined – but what else is she to do? It is not as if Eko can roam freely, at least not yet. She is too young and Iza feels better at least knowing where Eko is at all times, even if it does mean she returns to a ruined home each day.

But Iza cannot ignore the flutter of excitement emanating from Eko. Her dragon, it seems, has learned enough to understand what Alise is proposing.

Faced with Eko's hope and Alise's inquisitive stare, Iza can only rub at her forehead and shoot a half-hearted glare at her friend. "I suppose you have an idea or two on how that might happen?"

Alise's lips turn upward at the corners. "Of course," she answers benignly.

And that is how Iza finds herself at their bathing place while the sun is still high in the sky, scrubbing at clothes with soap in her hair and watching as her dragon gleefully swims in the water. The water which is now pleasantly warm instead of slightly too cool due to Eko's sun-bright claws warming the water with every stroke.

Water, it seems, is the only thing that can hold up to Eko's devastating claws. But only just. Iza suspects that Eko's claws would eventually evaporate the water, if given enough time. But for now, Eko seems more content than she has been since she hatched and Iza can only send grateful looks to Alise for finding a solution.

Her dragon doesn't have to worry about destroying her surroundings in the water. It is a weight off both of them.

"It must have something to do with elements," Alise says after they have laid the wet clothing out on rocks and branches. Alice floats in the water, uncaring of her bare breasts facing the run, while Iza sinks down to her chin, occasionally flicking her fingers over the surface of the water.

Alise's words have drawn her out of a solemn contemplation. "Hmm?"

"Eko," Alise says by way of explanation. "Her claws are like fire, yes? Many dragons are tied to the elements, so fire must be Eko's."

"Ah," Iza says in realization. The thought had crossed her mind once or twice. All dragons she has ever seen has been limited to some kind of element – and she knows very well that not all dragon breath is made of heat. "I suppose you are right."

"Fire is a strong element. It burns the earth and feeds on air, but it cannot overcome water. The two elements are equals, you see," Alise says thoughtfully.

Somewhat ruefully, Iza mentally bemoans that she might have made the same connection sooner had she been able to qualify for the more advanced seidr teachings that Alise is still attending. But Iza's seidr is very weak and she had been excluded from lessons several years ago. She knows the basics, but her only gift was ever in learning Odin's runes, which she uses for the Eddas she writes. Alise, on the other hand, will likely be residing over passing along seidr knowledge to the younger generations once she is fully learned.

_We all have our roles_, Iza reflects. And anyway, Alise has never held Iza's normalcy over her head, probably because Alise is an outcast in her own way. That much _knowing_ unnerves many people in the village. Alise may be respected as a gifted user of seidr, but she is excluded for other reasons; likewise, Iza's progressive ideals and the fact that she is a woman without magic mean that she is strange, but she still has her position as the Chieftain's daughter to earn respect.

Not for the first time, Iza thinks people are very strange and shallow to let such trivial things cement their opinions.

Imagine what the village would think if they found out about Eko. The thought almost makes her hysterical.

"Life is about the balancing of two opposing sides," Alise says after the silence has stretched and stretched. Her words seem to come from the depths of her chest, the tone deeper than Alise's normal musical lilt. It makes Iza sit up a bit more in the water and take notice.

"Alise?"

Alise's head turns toward her, eyes so round the white of them are visible all around the iris. Unblinking and fully dilated, Alise's eyes are black with only a faint ring of sea-grey around the sides. "You are needed."

Iza's heart lodges itself in her throat. "Alise, what are you-"

"You must go," Alise cuts her off, this time with some urgency. She blinks rapidly a few times, then rights herself in the water, ducking down beneath the surface before popping up with her jet hair plastered to the sides of her neck. "You are needed in the village – Mik will falter without your guidance, and we desperately need to make a trade."

"A trade?"

Alise just shakes her head. "You will know when you see it – don't let him get away, Iza. Now, go! Hurry before the ship docks-"

"What about Eko?" Iza demands, even as she hastily moves to follow Alise's orders.

At the sound of her name, Eko's head pops out of the water, her frills standing to attention as her eyes lock onto Iza's form while Iza stumbles to pull on a still-damp shift and a dyed cotton dress that looks more grey than blue. She runs her fingers through her hair, pulling at tangles with a wince even as she hops into her worn leather boots. Iza looks back and forth between Eko and Alise, severely torn between maternal duty and her recognition of what Alise's sudden _advice_ truly is -

But Alise barely hesitates before she reaches over to tap Eko on the nose, shaking her head at Iza. "Do not worry about your bonded," Alise answers soothingly. "I will watch over her and return her to your home. Peace to your mind. Now, go!"

And Iza does, placing her full trust in Alise as she always has.

Alise has never let her down before. And if Alise thinks that it's more important Iza be in the village _now_ than escorting her illicit dragon to the safety of her home – well.

Iza trusts Alise with more than just her life.

And that is why, still partially sodden, Iza rushes through the forest to the village as fast as her legs will carry her. It's a very good thing that she does, because she soon finds that Alise had been right once again.

Unfamiliar ships are pulling into the docks.

Iza only has one weary thought.

_Vikings_.

* * *

**A/N: Uh-oh. Well, that escalated quickly. Oh wait, that meme is dead. Whatever.**

**Alright, there were a lot of questions last chapter about Thor's day, so that'll be our bit of Viking trivia for this chapter. From what I've read, the Vikings marked certain days by the Norse Gods on a seven - or eight - day rotation, and some of that has bled over into language evolution from Germanic and Slavic languages. So. Thor's day was a Thursday and the pagans would somehow honor Thor on that day. How did they celebrate Thor? Who knows? But for fun, Frigg's day was Friday and was a fun excuse to have lots of sex. So in the last chapter, when Edvard was like "it's been two Thor's days", he's basically saying it's been two weeks. **

**Alright. As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	12. twelve

**Twelve**

Once, when Iza was very small, foreign Vikings from another settlement came to the village. She remembers the fighting and the screaming and the salty, coppery scent in the air that didn't seem to fade for days. The only reason the brutal raid was not more devastating was because the warriors of Forks were more skilled – but only just. If not for a certain killing blow made by the Chieftain that day, then Forks would be no more.

That raid made many children into orphans. Like Edvard.

Iza remembers the raid. But mostly she remembers the empty expressions on the living and the dead alike in the wake of the raid. She still does not know what is worse – to die, or to survive.

She does know that her trepidation as she rushes through the village is justified. There's a heavy clench in her stomach as her feet slide down the small hill leading toward the docks on the fjord. Several of the Forks fishermen are already waiting with weary expressions on their sun-tanned faces; beside them, men and younger boys from the village mill around with poorly-concealed anxiety, their sides weighed down by longswords. Some women are present as well, although they are few and far between. As Iza arrives - hair still dripping, face flushed, and her skirts heavily damp against her legs – she catches sight of the stern but exquisite face of Różyczka, who is standing beside her brother Jaspar with her eyes leveled coldly on the longboats tying themselves to harbor.

By the time Iza comes to a stop at the front of the crowd, the foreign Vikings have already begun to disembark from their longboats. They take their time, seemingly unbothered by the weight of a few dozen eyes watching them suspiciously, but it does not escape Iza's notice that these Vikings also carry their weapons.

Iza's gaze cuts away from the foreign Vikings to quickly pass over the crowd of villagers, her brow tightly furrowed as she searches for Mik – who has, for reasons beyond Iza's comprehension, chosen to tuck himself between the fishermen and lingering warriors. She gives him a hard look, moving quickly to grasp him by the elbow and tug him to stand at the front of the crowd. Carefully, she makes sure that she stands at his side, rather than a step behind him.

Mik, she already knows, cannot handle this himself.

Iza ignores the burn of a familiar stare, having already made a note of how close Edvard has placed himself to the front of the crowd. She does not know why he wastes his time staring at _her_ when he should be assessing these foreign Vikings – Iza certainly does not hesitate to give her full attention to the large, blond-haired men who amble toward them in a concentrated droves.

Are they amiable? Will they attack? There is no way of knowing. Wariness settles around Iza like a cloak.

Iza leans toward Mik, allowing her hair to fall forward to conceal the side of her face as she speaks. "Make the introductions, but do not tell them that the Chieftain is away from the village," she instructs lowly. "Imply that he is assisting with the planting season."

To his credit – and by the grace of Odin – Mik does not allow his nerves to betray him as he addresses the foreign Vikings. He follows Iza's directions exactly, which thankfully gives the impression that their village does not have much time to entertain guests. At the mention of planting season, a few of the foreign Vikings make a face and nod gravely. The importance of growing food is understood by all and it takes priority over any unnecessary mingling.

Not that these Vikings seem intent on lingering any more than they have to. In fact, they seem to be in a hurry. Iza does not understand why that is until she overhears a too-loud whisper about the Forks village being "the one that is besieged by dragons".

Iza stifles a smile, allowing herself to relax minutely. No wonder these Vikings brought their weapons with them – not to raid and pillage, but for their own protection in the case that dragons showed up out of the blue. She has to wonder, though, how large their dragon problem is if they have become infamous as being a dragon-besieged village. She had not thought their troubles had spread beyond their own borders. And she has to wonder – do other villages _not_ contend with dragons?

Evidently not.

Iza tunes back into the stilted conversation between Mik and the head of the foreigners when there is a scuffle as a short, thin blond man is pushed into the space between the two groups. Her eyes fall on the heavy iron chains around the man's wrists and feet before she tries to see the pale face hiding behind a scraggly, unkempt blond beard. Although underfed and swallowed up by rags of clothing, she can tell that there is something _soft_ about this slave. His light coloring throws for her a moment, but since it is incredibly unlikely that Vikings would make one of their own a slave, Iza can only conclude that this man is a Saxon.

By Yggdrasil's roots, how did a _Saxon_ become a slave to Vikings? How is this Saxon still alive? As Iza is well aware, a dead Saxon is the only kind of Saxon a Viking will tolerate. Yet this one is alive and standing, if only just barely.

"We been looking to trade this one," says the foreign Viking, prodding at the Saxon's back roughly. "Might have killed him, but he's actually worth something. Saved Gorg's leg from rotting off, he did. Calls himself a healer or some such. Could be useful to you, yeah?"

Iza's gut reaction is to turn down the offer. She holds no love or trust for Saxons and if this were any other day, she would subtly prod Mik into waving the trade away as diplomatically as possible. But this isn't any other day, because Iza has Alise's voice in the back of her mind – urging her to make a _trade_. This trade, apparently, although it is difficult to wrap her head around the fact that Alise wants her to trade for ownership of a slave.

Which is why she finds herself speaking up, chin lifted as she stares skeptically at the Saxon. "What do you want for him?"

Iza ignores the shocked shuffling rippling behind her as the warriors and fishermen react to her interest.

The head foreigner shifts his attention to her without so much as a blink of an eye. "He's pretty useful for a Saxon. A sack of gold and all the furs and grains you can spare," he offers.

"We do not have much gold," Iza says levelly. "Besides, the slave seems sickly. He might not survive the night for all I know."

"No gold, no trade."

"A few coins, our best whetstones, and enough waybread to send you on your way," Iza barters coolly.

"Rather have furs than whetstones, so long as the food is good."

"That sounds like a deal."

The Viking grunts. "Aye, a deal."

"Allow us time to gather your supplies," Mik says after Iza elbows him. He casts a wide-eyed look to the villagers behind him until two of the fishermen hustle off to the village to collect what Iza had promised to trade the slave for.

All the while, Iza watches the Saxon and wonders why Alise thought that this man was important enough to trade for – wonders why this man is useful enough to still be alive among Vikings. He must be intelligent, since he seems to understand that he is being used to bargain supplies. He must be able to understand some of their language, which means he must have been travelling with these Vikings for a while. And oddly, the Saxon doesn't seem to be as broken as other slaves Iza has seen. She suspects he stands hunched only because of weakness, not for a lack of pride.

Interesting. He had better be worth all the trouble, though. Iza already dreads trying to explain – through Mik – why she had traded for this Saxon slave to the Elders.

Soon enough, the fishermen shuffle back with enough food for a dozen warriors, what Iza knows to be furs that are maybe a year or two old, and a leather sack of coins that she suspects is more iron than anything else. The foreign Vikings take the trade with glee, shoving the Saxon toward Forks with a jeer or two.

"Don't suppose you'd let us stay the night, yeah?" the head Viking asks, directing the question to Iza rather than Mik.

Iza offers a serene smile. "Would you risk dragonfire for one night on land?" she wonders slyly.

The Viking bellows out a laugh, directing the rest of his men back onto the longboats without a backward glance. Iza and the rest of them watch as the boats pull away from the docks, silence settling over the crowd.

It is not until the noise of the foreign Vikings fades that Mik looks to Iza with wonder. "Why did you do that?" Based on the whispers and grunts of agreement, he is not alone in wondering. Their village does not often take slaves and they have never taken a Saxon. Added to the fact that Iza had outright usurped Mik's position – however for show it is – and Iza can do little else but offer an explanation.

"Alise," she says simply, and that is enough to send curiosity rippling through the crowd. The entire village knows about Alise and her connection to the Norns, of course. Even if Alise is not openly embraced, neither is she completely ostracized. This lends Iza enough credence that not too many will continue to ask questions.

For now, the only one with a question is Iza, which she directs to the Saxon with an ashen face and shaking legs. "What are you called?" she asks, looking for any sign of comprehension on the slave's face. "Your name?"

The Saxon's deep blue eyes flicker with something like recognition. She was right to think he must be intelligent, since he has picked out the most important word. "Name," he repeats, giving her a searching look.

Iza nods. "Name. What is your name?" she asks again. She is interested to see that the Saxon mouths her words back to himself a few times, as if to remember the phrase and how it is used. She wonders how many other phrases he has tucked away behind the dirty, greasy, overgrown mess of his hair, and if he will be speaking as easily as Wilhelm any time soon.

For now, the Saxon looks at Iza steadily. "Name," he repeats. "Carlisle. Name…Carlisle."

* * *

**A/N: Remember that time when I made Carlisle a Saxon slave that Iza essentially owns? Ah. Good times. **

**Viking stuff for this chapter! First - not all Vikings were friendly with other settlements. A good portion of Vikings regularly pillaged neighboring settlements, sometimes not understanding that they were killing other Vikings until the deed had already been done. Vikings could also squabble with each other over territory, especially if a settlement was on fertile ground. Survival, y'all. Second - the Vikings were _not friendly_ with Saxons, like, at all. There's a whole to-do about how not-nice Vikings and Saxons were and how one English king in particular put an end to Viking raids once and for all, at least in Saxon territory. Saxons really were sometimes salves to Vikings, especially if they had useful skills. Trading for slaves, however, might have been a lot different than depicted in this story. You might think that a useful slave would be kept, but sometimes it was more important to have food or lighten the load on a longboat - hence why Carlisle was traded.**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	13. thirteen

**Thirteen**

Carlisle the Saxon slave has to sleep somewhere and since Iza is the one who traded for him, tradition dictates that _she_ has to decide where that somewhere will be. It is not ideal. As tempting as it is to place Carlisle with Whilhelm or with Mik's family, the strangeness of Alise's request that Iza even make a trade for the Saxon prompts Iza to take full responsibility herself.

Carlisle will come home with Iza. He will sleep in the Chieftain's longhouse until Iza can prepare a tent. He will be with Iza at all times, unless she can find some other place for him to be useful.

And, inevitably, the Saxon slave will also be introduced to Eko. There is no way around it. The only saving grace in the entire situation is the fact that the Saxon does not communicate with ease yet. Hopefully, by the time he does, the issue with hiding Eko's existence will be resolved.

It all feels a little precarious to Iza.

Carlisle follows Iza to the longhouse on the highest hill, both of them ignoring the incredulous stares that follow after them. Once again, Iza has done something unconventional. She is used to the stares by now. And for his part, she thinks that Carlisle is too exhausted and malnourished to pay much mind to the eyes that follow after them.

Or perhaps he is simply confused, she thinks as she watches him hesitate in the doorway of her home. He does not look like he wants to follow her in. Is it because he is Saxon and his people have certain customs? Or is it because Iza is a Viking woman? Does he not realize that he is _her_ slave, now?

Iza sighs, startling the meek creature that is now under her ownership. "Carlisle," she says in a tone between stern and soft. She instantly captures his attention, his head snapping up and the chains around his wrists rattling sharply. Iza gestures toward herself and says, "Come here. Come."

Carlisle hesitates for only a moment more before he shuffles into the house. Iza closes the door behind him, resting her forehead on the wood and closing her eyes for a moment. She does not know what to do just yet. But…

Sometimes, for Iza, it helps to focus on small problems before she can focus on bigger problems. And it is certainly a problem – for her – that Carlisle smells as rank as he does. This is something that has a simple solution and, really, it would be best if she could get the Saxon settled before Alise _somehow_ manages to smuggle Eko home.

Iza turns and steps around Carlisle, who is gawking at the inside of the longhouse with wide eyes. In an instant, Iza knows that he had never been allowed in the abode of his previous owners. It makes her stomach twist – even slaves should be treated humanely. It is obvious to her that Carlisle has been treated as less than human for a while, something her traitorously soft heart will seek to rectify.

Iza sets to work, briskly setting an iron pot of water to heat before the hearth while she rummages around for clean clothing, soaps, and a short blade she can use to do _something_ to Carlisle's matted hair. She knows there is no way those tangles will come out just by looking at him.

It takes some coaxing before she can get the Saxon to sit on the floor in front of the fire and the moment Iza kneels behind him, hacking at his hair with the knife, he tenses as tightly as stone. She feels pity for him, so strong it makes her lungs clench, but she forges on as surely as she does anything else. Iza shears off his hair as close to the scalp as she can, the cut artless and messy but also much better than before. Then she moves around to the Saxon's front and does the same to the beard on his face. Even before washing, the slave looks much younger than before. In fact, he looks only a few years older than Iza – the same age as Edvard and Jaspar, maybe.

She wonders when the Vikings abducted him. If he is a healer, then surely he was enslaved after he had already been learned, otherwise he would not have been kept alive. But she is not sure and she has no way of asking. The Saxon can barely follow even the simplest of commands – there is no way he would be able to answer the questions burning on her tongue.

Iza sighs again, firmly banking her curiosity as she leans back, satisfied that Carlisle has a hope in Hel of being clean now. At that, she fixes the slave with a firm look and hands him a rough cloth and a cake of soap. "Wash," she tells him. When he stares at her a little blankly, Iza huffs and makes more gestures, mimicking the movements of washing her arms and hair. "Wash," she says again, this time scooting the warmed water in front of the slave.

He blinks, seemingly shocked, and then rushes to comply.

Iza snorts.

She has heard from traveling Vikings that the Saxons do not bathe frequently – or at least not as frequently as her own people. But perhaps Carlisle is different from other Saxons, having survived Vikings for so long. Or maybe he has not ever had a bath since being abducted. Iza would not be surprised. All the same, she has never seen someone look so grateful for soap and water before.

When it comes time to clean his body, the slave shows enough discomfort in taking off his ruined clothes that Iza pointedly puts clean clothes on the table for him and leaves the longhouse altogether. She loiters in the yard, arms crossed over her torso, and allows her mind to roam freely until she feels enough time has passed that Carlisle ought to be done by now.

When she goes back inside, she is gratified to see that the slave is clean and dressed and had even cleaned up after himself, having placed the iron pot on the table and cleaned up his hair from the floor. Currently, he stares up at her like a small child for a moment before his gaze wonders to some berries sitting in a wooden bowl on the table. He stares at the berries with such longing that pity cuts through Iza again.

But instead of giving him the berries, Iza hands Carlisle a small hunk of bread. She has no idea when he last ate and the last thing she wants to do it clean up vomit. She also has no idea if the slave has a strong enough stomach for the tart berries.

The Saxon is happy for the bread though, smartly making an effort to chew and swallow slowly without Iza even having to instruct him to do so. Maybe he really _is_ a healer. He even sips at water from a ladle with a certain caution.

Left with nothing else to do, Iza finds herself sharing the bench at her table with her Saxon slave. They exchange a few glances, each of them curious about the other but both of them muted by a language barrier. Iza frowns after a long moment, realizing that she had not introduced herself.

She presses her palm flat to her sternum. "Iza," she says. "My name is Iza."

Carlisle perks up, seeming to recognize the word _name_ again and repeats her name back to her. It sounds odd in his accent, more crisp than she is used to hearing it, but she decides that she doesn't mind it overmuch.

Encouraged by the slave's comprehension, Iza taps the leftover scraps of crust that Carlisle gave up gnawing on. "Bread," she tells him, moving on to tap the bowl of water he's been drinking from. "Water."

"Bread. Water," Carlisle parrots back. There's a sheen of intelligence in his eyes that tells Iza he is easily grasping these simple concepts. She's right to assume that he'd picked up more of their language in his time as a captive than anyone would have thought. He will be speaking Norse as easily as Wilhelm in no time, Iza is sure of it.

Is that why Alise was so adamant about the trade? Because Carlisle is intelligent? Because he might have useful skills? For another reason?

Intuition tells her that not even Alise is fully aware of the reason. Iza wishes she could be surprised about that – but having known Alise for their entire lives, she has come to expect the patchwork predictions. There is often no rhyme or reason that can be understood, either in the moment or ever. Iza can wryly recall some instances from childhood where Alise's insistence had proven to be without cause – that is, unless they are still waiting for the day when Alise's determination that Iza use only raven fletched arrows will come to fruition.

Having little else to do and no desire to leave her home while she awaits the delivery of her dragon, Iza putters around the hearth to create a stew for the evening meal. She makes herself speak aloud, pointedly tapping on objects as she uses them for Carlisle's benefit. He mutters to himself behind her, repeating the words and phrases back to himself, sometimes in Norse and sometimes in what she can only assume is the Saxon language.

It all feels absurd, but as with most things, Iza pushes ever forward.

Not particularly gifted with cooking, Iza manages to set an iron pot to boil in front of the hearth, more or less satisfied with the root vegetables and the hearty broth she has managed to put together. There will be enough for all three of them, she thinks, especially since she has little appetite and Carlisle should not be eating too much either way.

It is only when the meaty, pungent scent of the stew begins to waft through the air that a knock interrupts the simple instructive conversation Iza has been holding with the Saxon. Iza pushes up from the bench immediately, wood scraping against the floor in her hurry to reach the door.

On the other side, Alise is waiting with a sanguine smile, her arms weighted down by a basket of herbs collected from the forest. The basket is in poor condition, probably something a child had left behind at some point, and is just barely large enough to hold Eko, whose nose pokes out from between two ferns. Alise does not seem bothered in the slightest as she slips into Iza's home, not even sparing a glance to the Saxon slave who observes them silently.

"I came across some wonderful witch hazel that I thought might be useful," Alise says conversationally. "And yarrow – it's not even in season yet, so I consider myself quite lucky. Do you have any use for dandelion root, or should I take it back home?"

"You can take it back," Iza tells her, digging into the basket until her hands close on the familiar feel of smooth, slightly warm scales against the palms of her hands. Relief to finally have her hands back on her dragon is strong enough to almost make her knees buckle, but Iza steels herself and lifts Eko out of the basket and into her arms.

Carlisle makes a choked sound, his eyes wide and round as he promptly falls off the bench.

Iza and Alise share a look over the top of Eko's head, who is nuzzling happily into Iza's neck. "I cannot believe you told me to trade for a slave," Iza complains. "What am I even supposed to do with him?"

"He must play a role," Alise says, cryptic as ever.

Iza sighs, glancing down at the slave who trembles against the partially ruined stone of the hearth. "If you're sure," she says skeptically. Because intelligent or not, Carlisle is still a _Saxon_ and now he is a Saxon who knows about her dragon. She cannot imagine what kind of role he's supposed to play in whatever future the Norns have shown Alise.

"I should be heading back," Alise says after staring intently at Carlisle for a few seconds. "I am sure my brothers are in a state. Edvard especially."

Iza narrows her eyes. "You are the one who told me to trade."

And she does not know why the orphan adopted into Alise's family would _care_ either way, but she does not say that out loud, weary of the way Alise's eyes dance in the firelight.

"And it is a good thing you have. I am sure you will figure it out," Alise says reassuringly. "Be mindful of how you hunt tomorrow."

"What?" Iza asks, but Alise does not bother to answer as she glides out of the longhouse. The door shuts firmly behind her and Iza sighs again, adjusting Eko in her grip. Her connection with the dragon blooms with something like curiosity as Eko notices the man who is still cowering on the other side of the room.

Iza purses her lips together, looking between the two. "Eko, this is Carlisle. He's a Saxon slave who is now…in my custody, I suppose," she says to the dragon, who tilts her head in a birdlike fashion by way of response. Iza catches Carlisle's eye and slowly says, "Dragon. _My_ dragon. Her name is Eko."

Carlisle stares, his eyes even rounder than before.

"She won't hurt you," Iza says. "Carlisle. Say dragon. _Dragon._"

"D-d…Dragon," Carisle manages. He swallows heavily. "Eko. Dragon Eko."

"That's right," she says tiredly. "Eko is a dragon. And we do not talk about her _ever_ outside of this longhouse. Do you understand me? We do not talk about Eko."

"No…talk?"

"Right," Iza confirms. "No talk."

Eko chirps, wiggling in Iza's arms until Iza relents and puts her down. Somehow, Iza is not the least bit surprised to see that Eko makes a beeline for Carlisle, ignoring his shaky attempts to get away from the dragon. Eko manages to crawl right into the slave's lap, which makes the man freeze so thoroughly he scarcely breathes.

Eko's wings flutter. Carlisles makes a strangled sound. Iza rubs at the sudden ache in her temple.

But then her eyes land on the chains still around Carlisle's neck and wrists, the flesh around them rubbed raw, and her stomach twists again. Iza has a dragon – if she wants to keep her slave in line, she doesn't need _chains_ to do so. And no human being should ever be chained.

"Eko," Iza calls as she kneels down beside Carlisle, waiting until the dragon's attention turns to her. Iza lifts a chain and rattles it pointedly. "Can you get rid of these?"

Iza has no idea if she's asking too much. She probably is. Eko doesn't seem to have any control over what her claws can do and she's still growing. But Iza doesn't know how else to get these chains off the Saxon and she does not think she can stomach seeing them for much longer. That – and it is inevitable that she figures out how to train Eko's claws to work on command rather than sporadically.

Now is as good a time as any.

Eko seems to understand her. Eko's two-toned eyes gleam in excitement as her gaze latches onto the rusting metal. She does not mind when Iza lifts her under the arms, carful that her claws are not touching any human flesh. It takes some maneuvering before Eko's claws are touching the metal but not the man who watches them with an ashen expression. It takes a while longer, with Iza's arms quickly growing tired, before the very tip of Eko's talons begin to grow.

In the back of her mind, Iza can _feel_ how much concentration it take for Eko to make this happen – but she can also feel the blinding streak of Eko's pride when the chains crumble into black dust, scattering harmlessly across Carlisle's clean skin and onto the floor.

Iza waits until Eko's claws fade to their normal gleaming black before she hauls Eko against her chest with a grin, pressing several proud kisses between Eko's two stubby horns. "Very good. You did so well," she praises.

Meanwhile, Carlisle gasps in amazement, his palms rubbing over inflamed flesh with tears in his eyes. Iza can see the moment when he realizes that he is physically _free_ – a slave without chains – because he looks up at her with a mix of wonderment and gratitude.

Iza does not feel like she fully deserves the loyalty of the Saxon slave she had traded for, but she knows that she has that loyalty completely.

And she accepts that loyalty without hesitation, because that loyalty means that Eko will be safe even when Carlisle can manage to speak for himself.

Iza exhales a cleansing breath, allowing all other worries to ease off her shoulders, if only for a moment.

Eko would be okay.

_They_ would be okay.

* * *

**A/N: I _know_. It's been a long time since the last update. What can I say except that between the job and the medication and the stress of everything else, I'm just not in a place where I can sit and write like I used to? Updates are going to be slow. I've completely lost the plot - and inspiration - for this story, So it'll take me some time to piece it all together again. I'll try to have another update this month. **

**Viking things for this chapter...? Nothing new, I don't think. Other than the fact that compared to other civilizations at the time, Vikings were _weirdly_ into personal hygiene, which I think I've mentioned before. But aren't we happy that Carlisle got a bath?**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~cupcakeriot**


	14. fourteen

**Fourteen**

Spring turns to summer in the blink of an eye – and much quicker than Iza anticipated things begin to change again.

As the planting season shifts into the growing season, Iza's days begin to consist mostly of learning how to deal with a growing dragon and a slave too intelligent for his own good. While Iza dedicates herself to helping Eko gain mastery over her odd abilities, Carlisle seems to dedicate himself to learning everything he can about Norse culture.

By the time Eko can command her claws into different actions, Carlisle is already able to read Iza's Eddas and cobble together stilted conversations. Iza is, frankly, beside herself – torn between pride for each of them and a sinking sense that they are outgrowing her too quickly.

She has never had this fear before. Usually Iza is the one outgrowing everyone else. To be on the other side is uncomfortable, to say the least.

And yet, both dragon and Saxon stay by her side. Eko she can understand, since they are bonded and breathe with the same lungs. It is Carlisle who causes confusion, because she is his _master_ but he does not seem bothered by the prospect. She supposes it must be because she treats him humanely, as humanely as she treats her dragon.

She cannot fathom any other reason why he offers his help so freely.

It is a warm summer day with the sun high in the sky when Iza hears a commotion behind her. She tilts her head toward the noise, allowing a slight slack on her bow as she half-turns toward the sight behind her. Carlisle, who _had_ been examining the plants of the forest with a sharp eye so he could once again spend the night creating pungent concoctions over the hearth, is now tutting at Eko, who has seen fit to wind herself around his legs in a playful effort to knock him over.

Iza sighs, knowing that her small prey has been scared away by the noise. Probably for the best. Lately, it's becoming harder to feed all of them on a diet of fish and rabbit. She really needs a bigger kill, but she simply can't bring herself to do it – and she _could_, if she wanted to, because her aim is so much better than it was, but sometimes she feels herself shy away from taking a shot that would fill all of their bellies. It's instinct, almost. A weird instinct, but an instinct all the same.

Iza resigns herself to scoping out the fishermen's haul later on since she can't manage to kill a buck.

She turns and joins Carlisle in watching Eko scale part way up a tree. Eko tries to launch herself from a branch, but her attempt to fly mostly ends up with her gliding none-too-gently right into Iza's stomach. Iza catches her with some difficulty, as Eko has now doubled in size and seems to have tripled in density – she's almost too large for Iza to carry, her size equivalent to that of a middling child. And Iza is _small –_ shorter than many others in her village.

Eko's head turns and Iza follows the dragon's curious two-toned gaze. They both watch as Carlisle points at the branch Eko had just abandoned and then rapidly flaps his arms up and down with his eyebrows raised. Eko makes a trilling noise, her emotions flashing with a vague sense of frustration.

"She is too young, I think," Iza says to Carlisle.

"Wings," Carlisle insists stubbornly. "She can go in air."

"Fly," Iza corrects gently. "She can _fly_. Or she will be able to. She's only four full moons. That must be very young for dragons."

Carlisle nods, following the thread of Iza's logic as best he can. He's better at understanding what she's saying than responding in turn, which makes their conversations stilted and one-sided for the most part, but he _does_ get more than the gist of it. He can fully understand the Norse written word. Speaking is more difficult.

"She try?" Carlisle asks, glancing back at the tree and then toward a tall boulder barely hidden in the next copse.

Eko climbs down Iza's body, claws barely prickling through her clothes, and circles around Carlisle's feet, nudging him in the direction of the boulder. Iza has the vague sense that Eko will indeed be trying to fly again as they both clamber off into the dense brush, but she pushes her awareness of Eko into the back of her mind. She takes up her bow again and eases between two trees – still within hearing distance of her companions, but not so close that game will be scared off again. She might as well try again, too.

The truth is that she _might_ be avoiding the village. It is mid-day and there is no work that must immediately be done that the entire community must help with – and that means that where there are not busy hands, there are busy mouths. And those mouths seem to like talking about Iza now more than ever.

She is not _hiding_. Not truly. Let them gossip and run their mouths about her. At the end of the day, it is still Iza who Mik seeks out to deal with the Elders and it is still Iza who manages the wellbeing of the entire village. They can think her weird and too brazen all they like – Iza has long since given up on winning the approval of her peers. She has Alise and Jakob. And now she has Eko and Carlisle. The rest of the village is far less important – and for Iza, she does not need them to _like_ her, she just needs them to respect her.

If they respect her because they are wary of her strangeness, then it is all for the better.

This is what she has been telling herself since she was a child. It still rings true.

Iza sighs, shaking her thoughts out of her head, and steadies the aim of her arrow once more. There is a shaking of a bush not too far away that Iza immediately identifies as belonging to a rabbit or perhaps some other small creature. If she can manage a rabbit, then Eko's dinner will be taken care of because Odin knows the dragon is less fond of fish.

Iza has only just drawn her elbow back to loose her arrow when there is a chorus of several yells echoing through the forest around her – two men and the unmistakable screech of Eko's fledgling dragon roar.

She is spinning on her heel and running through the underbrush before she can even process the terrible but true thought that _someone had found Carlisle and Eko_.

Some _man_ had found them.

The only men around are from Forks, she knows.

A villager had found her dragon.

Iza cannot run fast enough. She knows just how eager the villagers are to kill dragons – but Eko is _innocent_ and Eko is _hers_. If someone manages to harm Eko, then Iza is sure her hesitation to kill living beings will be momentarily forgotten. She thinks that, for Eko, she would be more than willing to shed blood.

Iza bursts through the twin trees just before the tall boulder and immediately sets her wide eyes on a familiar spring green that has her stomach dropping to her feet like iron.

The scene she comes to find is this – Eko perched on the tall boulder with Carlisle paused in the middle of directing the dragon on how to fly and on the other side of the small clearing is _Edvard_ with his bow ready in his grip.

Seeing this, Iza's first instinct is to place herself in the middle of all of them and draw her own arrow. She aims the tip directly at Edvard, her aim and intent unmistakable.

Edvard's expression of agitation melts into something undiscernible, his full mouth lax and his brow smooth. But his green eyes glint with something that makes turmoil twist sharply in Iza's belly and he does not drop his bow.

The silence is thick as it stretches between them. The only sounds are that of birds chirping in the distance and Eko's faint, stuttering, infantile rumbling.

Edvard's eyes drop to the arrow pointed at him and then rise to meet Iza's steady two-toned gaze. "You would shoot me," he says.

It isn't a question, but Iza is compelled to respond anyway. "Yes."

"For a dragon," Edvard says flatly. "And for a slave who consorts with a dragon – you would shoot me."

"No," Iza counters swiftly, tilting her chin upward in challenge. "I would shoot you to protect _my_ dragon and my _friend_."

And she would, she thinks. Edvard is the best hunter the village has and likely the strongest warrior. He is tall and broad and strong. He would easily best Iza in a fight if it came to that, but Iza would still try.

But Edvard is not attacking or getting angry like she imagines any other villager might. The only motion he makes is to tilt his head slightly, his eyes sliding up to where Eko stands on top of the boulder. "Your dragon?"

Iza pauses.

She does not know how to proceed. Even in her wildest imaginings of what might happen if anyone ever found out about Eko – other than Alise – she has always expected anger and violence and the very real possibility of running away to save herself and Eko from untimely demise. And she has made peace with those possibilities. She tied herself to Eko's fate the moment she found the egg, as is only right.

But she does not know what to do when confronted with Edvard's placidity. He has always been so difficult to read, quiet and stoic, but in this she would have assumed he would behave as a warrior would – kill first, ask questions later.

It seems Iza has misjudged him. She is not sure what to do about that, so she responds in the only way she can – with truth.

"I hatched her," she tells Edvard. Her aim does not waver from the center of his chest even as she watches him process this information.

"You hatched a dragon."

"Yes."

Finally, emotion cracks over Edvard's face, a slight furrow of the brow that leaves him looking utterly baffled. "Why?"

Oh, by the Norns if only Iza _knew_ why she would do such a thing. She had wondered the same thing so she cannot fault Edvard's curiosity, but it still rankles that she ended up in this situation mostly due to chance. It all started with being hit by Thor's hammer and escalated from there…

Iza drops her aim, holding her bow and arrow in one hand while the other reaches up to pull down the high neck of her tunic. She holds Edvard's eyes as she stretches her neck to the side, exposing the upper portion of her chest and the pink scars spreading across her skin like lightning.

"Thor chose me, I think," she confesses, a conscious choice as she chooses to trust Edvard with this information. He is a sibling of sorts to Alise, she reasons, and he has somewhat proven himself to think before he acts.

Iza thinks she can trust him – it's another instinct of sorts, the same one that tells her to do what she wants and disregard the opinion of others. Courage, maybe.

"God touched," is what Edvard says in response, eyes riveted on her skin, tracing the lines of her scars with some awe.

Iza flushes and fixes her tunic, hiding her skin once again. She thinks about Edvard's wording. God touched? Loki had said something similar before – and then he had called her a Halfling and a mother to a dragon, so she is not sure how much weight _any_ of Loki's words deserve because he speaks in half-truths with a silver tongue.

Edvard lowers his bow. "So this is why…" he says lowly, mostly to himself. He looks at her with eyes as green as a new spring leaf with an unwavering sort of attention and Iza's heart flips within her chest. "I will keep this secret for you. If the Gods have willed it, then your path should not be disturbed."

Iza's shoulders relax, tension winding out of her spine as she absorbs this declaration.

Sensing that danger has passed, Eko is quick to glide down from her high perch and walk a wide circle around Edvard. Man and dragon watch each other with some trepidation, but Edvard does not look at Eko's glossy black scales or her intelligent two-toned eyes with any negativity and Iza feels a sharp sense of relief. Eko trills at Edvard and even goes so far as to sniff once at his person before she dashes back to Iza, sitting before Iza's feet like a sentinel with her frills on full display.

Edvard merely raises a brow at the dragon and excuses himself to finish his hunt.

Iza watches him go, broad shoulders disappearing into the shadows of the trees, and feels a foreign flutter in her stomach.

She does not realize that she has been staring after Edvard for some time until Carlisle comes into view with a worried pucker on his thin face. "Is safe?" he asks.

"Yes," Iza murmurs, offering Carlisle a tiny smile of reassurance. "Yes, I think we are."

* * *

**A/N: Throwback Thursday to that time like 1000 years ago when your love interest stumbled across your baby dragon and there was a super intense staring contest until you both chilled out again. Ah, good times.**

**No Viking things for this chapter, I don't think! But there has been some confusion about Edvard's family and age, so I'll clear that up instead. Let's see, as already stated so far, Edvard was orphaned very young and adopted by Alise and Emebor's family, who are farmers. Edvard grew up with Alise and Emebor as siblings but also with the knowledge that he would have to provide for himself once he was of age. And speaking of age, he's only a few years older than Iza. Iza is sixteen and Edvard is nineteen or twenty.**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	15. fifteen

**Fifteen**

_So that is why,_ Edvard thinks as he walks back toward the village, a red deer pulled behind him by a rope. The deer is heavy and healthy, which means that it will feed many people in the Great Hall this night, but Edvard hardly notices the strain that comes with lugging the carcass back to the village.

All afternoon he has been in a daze, his only coherent thoughts revolving around a certain girl and a _dragon_. A small dragon, but a dragon none the less.

_Of all things, Allfather_, Edvard laments silently. _A dragon in Forks. _

Edvard is certain that Izabela will stun him so thoroughly one day that he will keel over dead.

The scars he'd seen on her skin haunt him. He thinks back to the last dragon battle all those moons ago, the one where she had been missing and the rains had been so heavy he could hardly see if not for the dragonfire lighting up the night. He can clearly remember how vivid the lightning had been and how the loud thunder had vibrated the ground.

Thor had been at that battle. And Thor had evidently struck Iza.

And then Iza had stood before _Edvard_ as if _nothing had happened_ and he had not noticed that anything was wrong. He had assumed that she stayed away from the battle because she does not like the violence, which is certainly true. He had assumed that she had been short with him because they have argued in the past about those very dragonbattles and the right way to deal with them, which is _almost_ certainly true. He had assumed and he had overlooked.

She'd been struck by Thor and it had been obvious if only he had been paying attention – he can clearly remember now that her tunic had been ripped and that she had been bone pale. Caught up in the after battle rush, Edvard had only a mind to check up on her to see that she made it back to the village.

He should have done more.

It is a miracle she still stands and even more of a wonder that she had spoken to him after the battle with those fresh scars on her skin. They must have hurt so much. He cannot imagine it, something tight and hot in his chest at the thought of her in so much pain.

But he also cannot help but to admire her strength and her tenacity. All these months and she has taken on the weight of running the village _and_ raised a baby dragon in secret right under their noses. It is more than admirable. Edvard cannot imagine the stress. He does not have nearly half the responsibilities as Izabela does – and she handles each of them with such _grace_. It's unfathomable.

Not for the first time, Edvard supposes that _this_ must be what love feels like. It must be. It cannot be anything else.

But this brings Edvard to a strange dilemma.

Izabela has a _dragon_ – and it doesn't seem like she intends on revealing her Eko any time soon. Yet, revealing the dragon is inevitable. There have not been any dragonbattles since the raiders had left, which isn't so surprising as dragons tend to come when the months are barren. But even still, Edvard does not trust in such lasting peace.

Somehow, someway, a dragon would disrupt the summertime rhythm Forks has fallen into. It is inevitable. Edvard can almost feel it in the air – and it makes his fingers tingle with a barely tamed energy.

There is dread, too. Infatuated he might be, but Edvard is not blind. He knows that the village will turn against Izabela when her secret is revealed. He knows that the village will turn against _him_ when _his_ secret is revealed.

Both of them have done something strange and taboo. What a pair they make.

The bleak reality of what will happen weighs on Edvard heavily, but he cannot fully tramp down on the spark of hope that settles between his ribs.

Edvard had accepted Izabela's secret. Would she accept his?

* * *

**A/N: A tiny EPOV insight with an even tinier hit about Edvard's secret. Any guesses? I've actually already dropped a few in previous chapters! **

**No Viking things this chapter! But someone did point out that the Viking raiders have been gone for like 4 months and isn't that a long time? I mean, probably? But who the hell _really_ knows how long it took the Vikings to go around and do their thing? I imagine that it made sense for raiders to spend the growing season stocking up on things they'd need in the fall and winter. Plus there's the fact that the Vikings _did_ occasionally cross the Atlantic...*hint***

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	16. sixteen

**Sixteen**

Safety is a strange thing.

In a village of Vikings, safety can mean many things – shelter and food in their bellies and freedom from invading attacks. Safety is pleasant weather and the crackling fire in the center of the Great Hall when the Elders pass down the stories of their people during their celebrations. Safety is the silent acceptance in her father's eyes when Iza does something else that the other village girls do not.

Safety has not ever meant the certainty that her secrets would be kept. But that is what safety is now – even with three people aware of Eko's existance, one of them the greatest hunter and warrior in her generation, Iza is absolutely sure that her secrets are safe.

Alise, she knows, plays by her own set of rules. Alise has never cared for gossip, mostly because she has often been the center of that gossip. Now that Alise is older, people tend to listen to her strangeness rather than fear it and still Alise does not spare a second thought for any mind except her own.

Carlisle will keep Eko a secret because he cannot fully communicate in Norse and because he feels some loyalty for Iza and because he seems genuinely fond of the dragon. The Saxon has no reason to betray Iza's secret because she has not given him one.

Edvard is a different matter. He has every reason to stand in the Great Hall and reveal the secret Iza has been keeping hidden for these past few months. Edvard has killed dragons. He holds a neutral – perhaps even aloof or careless – regard for Iza, so there is no loyalty to deal with. And as someone who holds some station of power in the village, Edvard is socially aware enough that his position depends on how well he is viewed. He is constantly in competition to be the best. In short, unlike the others, Edvard has no reason to keep Iza's secet.

But she knows that he will. It is a certainty that she feels in her bones, that is confirmed each time she draws breath. Edvard won't breathe a word about Eko and so Eko is safe. Iza is safe.

When she was younger, she had heard the adults claim that there was safety in numbers. Mostly she heard this because the _numbers_ were always against her, ostracizing her for her disinterest in common interests. The only surety Iza has ever felt with her peers came from Alise, who was in the same boat of being _other_ from the rest of the village.

Now, however, Iza understands what the adults had meant. There is safety – for Eko – in numbers. Iza has spent months stretching herself thin, trying to look after the village and hide a baby dragon under their noses at the same time. Both occupations were full time. It is a wonder that Iza had not fallen ill from the stress alone.

But now with Carlisle, there is someone do help with chores or keep an eye on Eko while Iza tends to the village. With Alise, there is some warning and some extra coordination when Iza dares to take Eko to the river or the forest. And with Edvard, though he is not there consistently, there is a confidence that someone will cover for her when she needs it.

Indeed, it has not escaped her notice that Edvard had subtly made excuses for Iza in the village these past weeks since he found out about Eko. If anyone had aired a complaint that Iza was slacking, Edvard had apparently dropped a passing comment about Iza's various duties and how being independent must be difficult while the Cheiftain is gone for so long. Edvard, it seems, is an expert in utilizing shame to keep mouths shut.

Iza is grateful for it. That kind of subtle, shadowy manipulation is not something she knows well – when Iza seeks to manipulate the village, to turn them to her side, she is more akin to a rolling boulder rather than a small breeze. When Iza seeks to manipulate, she starts small and gains speed and before anyone can realize it they have already been overcome. For Edvard, a few whispered words are enough to turn cheeks.

They are very alike, and yet very different.

And still, Iza knows that she and Eko are safe.

But she also knows that this sense of safety is not going to last. Eko is growing each day and the time for the Cheiftain to return is rapidly approaching. There is only so long Iza can keep a dragon the size of a pig hidden. And when her father returns, there is no possible way to keep Eko in her longhouse.

Time will take Iza's safety from her.

She cherishes this sense of safety while it lasts. There is a sinking in her stomach – or maybe a feeling in the air – that tells her this peace will not last. It has been too long since the dragons last attacked, too long since the raiders left home, too long since anything except the sun filled the sky.

The summer is hot and merciless. Iza's skin pinks under the sun, peeling to reveal a dust of golden skin on the tops of her shoulders and her nose. Carlisle fares even less well under the sun, developing a fever that last days and causes him to stay indoors or in the shade during the hottest parts of the day. The villagers seem to share the same thoughts, the village quiet when Iza makes her mid-day rounds between the Elders and anyone else who needs her attention, Mik lagging on her heels. Even the hunters and fishermen change their schedules to avoid the sun, doing their work in the early morning hours. The farmers, concerned that crops do not have enough water, call in all the hands of the villagers to lug buckets of water from the river before breakfast and before evening meals. Iza worries for the crops, as well. She can vividly remember how difficult that winter in her childhood had been, when the harvest had partially failed after a rainless summer and there was not enough grain to feed hungry mouths. She does not intend to let that happen under her watch.

The only one unbothered by the heat is Eko, who seems to enjoy the scorch of the sun and basks in the sunlight any chance she has. Iza wishes the dragon had more chances, but with secrecy being necessary, Eko can only steal moments here and there. Eko understands, though, that much Iza knows for sure.

Not only through their bonded minds – but also because Eko has begun to be more verbal, speaking short, clumsy words to Iza through their mental link. Eko learns Iza's language alongside Carlisle, aided by her access to Iza's mind, and the loneliness that has stuck to Iza since childhood begins to fade. She has a constant companion.

But this is not the only thing that changes.

During the very height of the summer, Eko seems to hit some kind of growth spurt, her limbs losing the rounded softness of childhood and stretching out. Eko grows in length, her body more slender, her legs and her tail longer, and even the expanse of her wings nearly doubling. Right before Iza's eyes, the dragon that she had once been able to cradle to her breast has gone from the size of a sheep to nearly the size of a cow. Eko is still able to fit into the longhouse because her shape is so svelte, but she can no longer curl up inside the hearth like she did when she was younger. Then again, the dragon also does not seem to _need_ the heat any longer – the heat is now comfort, not a tool for survival.

Eko grows – and she is stronger, able to glide and fly low on the ground now that her wings can lift her body weight, her control over her talons ironclad. But for all of Eko's growth, she is still so restricted and a very large part of Iza's heart aches with the knowledge that Eko is almost fully grown and yet has never taken to the sky the way she was born to do. Iza feels such guilt for it, but she does not know what to do. Something has to change, yet Iza is unsure of how to make that change happen.

All the while, that pervading sense hangs over her head.

Waiting.

Breathless.

A tingle down her spine.

Change will come.

Edvard, she thinks, is part of the reason Iza is so sure of this. Intuition can only serve humans so far – but when Edvard takes a look at Eko's rapid growth one afternoon and declares that her dragon is far too big to hide now, Iza knows that she cannot deny that he is right.

"Some villagers are blind, but they are not this blind," Edvard tells her, arms folded across his chest. His face is as impassive as ever, but his vividly green eyes are alight with _something_ that Iza cannot quite name.

Iza turns her gaze away, stomach flipping under his intense scrutiny, and watches as Eko laps at water from a small stream, her wings folded close to her back. "I know," she says lowly. "I know. And we should not be out here, not this close to sunset, but…"

She doesn't know how to finish the thought, but the feeling is there. Dragons – whether they are attacking the village or not – are creatures of the natural world. They are meant to fly and be free. They are not meant to be confined to one place, to one person, to one time of day for the fear of exposure.

Eko is her dragon and Iza does her a disservice by keeping the dragon leashed to her side. Eko might be safe, but she is not free. Even Carlisle has more freedom.

Yet Iza cannot rest easy and allow Eko to roam – not in this village, not when Eko is still so young…

These are excuses, she knows. If she were braver, Eko could be freer.

Iza is not brave. Not truly.

"Will you ride the dragon?" Edvard asks abruptly. When Iza turns to him sharply, both brows high on her forehead, he merely rolls his broad shoulders. "You have never given it a thought? She is certainly large enough that you could fit on her back."

Truthfully, the thought had never even occurred to Iza. Ride a dragon? What a concept!

Iza gives Edvard a strange look. "Why would I ride a dragon?"

And for the first time since perhaps their shared childhood, Iza sees a vulnerable expression cross Edvard's stoic face, a certain wistfulness as he looks up toward the darkening sky through the heavy treetops. "Have you ever wondered what it must be like to fly? I envy the birds. And the dragons, I suppose."

_He is so_….Iza's thought trails off. She is not sure what Edvard is, but he is so very…Edvard. Unpredictable at the best of times and inscrutable otherwise.

He does not give her a chance to respond, drawing his gaze back down and jerking his chin toward the direction of the village. "You better hide your dragon before the villagers come to collect water."

He is right, of course. Iza and Eko have lingered too long in the forest and it is risky to do so, especially now. Still, Iza spares one moment to take one last lingering look at the smooth planes of Edvard's face before she and Eko pick through a roundabout route back to the longhouse on the highest hill.

He watches her like she watches him.

She wishes she knew what it meant.

_Worry_? Eko wonders, a low feminine trill shivering through the back of Iza's mind. The dragon had obviously caught onto the anxious tenor of Iza's thoughts, the endless circling cycle of one concern after another.

_Yes_, Iza answers back honestly, thinking hard to direct her thoughts toward the dragon. They are still practicing, better at emotions than words. _I worry about a lot of things._

_I worry with you_, Eko says in response.

Tenderness blooms in Iza's heart as they both duck between the trees. She is oddly reassured, somewhat settled by Eko's solidarity. _Let's go home,_ Iza replies, and they both turn their concentration to sneaking through the growing shadows.

Carlisle is waiting for them in the longhouse, closing the door right after Eko slinks inside. His face is sunburnt and his hair blonder than when he arrived, but he is smiling proudly as he points at the table where two large bowls have been placed – one for them to share and one for Eko. "Fish stew," he says confidently. "I did it right."

"Thank you, Carlisle," Iza says, returning the smile with a small one of her own. There is a different pungent scent to the air, less savory and more herby. Her eyes catch on an iron pot cooling near the hearth. "What else have you done?"

"Healing," Carlisle says. He gestures to his face and struggles to find the right words. "To make burn better."

Around a mouthful of flavorful fish stew – and somehow unsurprised that Carlisle is a much better cook than Iza – she manages to comprehend what the second iron pot is for. Iza swallows. "Medicine for your sunburn," she says, then adds on, "This stew is delicious."

Carlisle beams. "Yes. Medicine," he repeats, and then spends the rest of the meal chattering about the herbs he has used, waiting for Iza to gently correct his speech as he outlines his method for making the medicine. Not for the first time, Iza reflects that Carlisle is an exceptionally smart man, even for a Saxon.

It is not until later that night, when the longhouse falls quiet between the soft snores of man and beast, that Iza finds herself gazing out toward the sea. The pit in her stomach is heavy, a leaden weight as she peers through the lopsided window to see the roiling waters beyond the fjords at the bottom of the village.

The stars in the sky are dim, partially covered by wispy grey clouds, and the high tide washes quickly from the shores. But what draws Iza's eye are the heavier clouds on the horizon, their pitch so dark they fade into the sky.

It will rain soon.

She should be happy for the reprieve of the rain, but instead her stomach clenches tightly.

Safety is a strange thing - especially when a change will come.

* * *

**A/N: Eko just had a glow up, y'all. Now, to put it in perspective, Eko went from being born like the size of a chicken to being the size of a small pig to being the size of like a sheep, which is about hip height on most humans. So now that Eko is cow-sized, she's at least as big as shoulder height. Will she be bigger? Probably not. I'm not writing about Smaug, okay. Since this is a How To Train Your Dragon inspired story, just imagine that fully grown Eko will be the same size as Toothless, who is about the size of like...I don't know, a moose? Whatever. **

**No Viking things this chapter! **

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~cupcakeriot**


	17. seventeen

**seventeen**

It is midday when the sky, dark with heavy grey clouds, lights up with a burst of lightning followed by a boom of thunder – just the once, an opening for the deluge of rain that suddenly pours from above. Iza is just leaving the Great Hall after checking in with the village Elders and finds herself among those who are immediately drenched. She hastens back to the awning of the Great Hall, intent to wait out the rain so as not to catch sick.

For just a moment, her mind reaches back to the last heavy rain – the storm that earned her scars and a dragon egg. The thought is there and gone so quickly that it almost doesn't matter.

But it does matter – human intuition is nothing to sneeze at.

In the next moment, a chorus of familiar screeches fills the air and Iza's gaze snaps back toward the sky, where a dozen dragons are breaking through the thick clouds. There is a sinking in her stomach, lead and iron and dread. The rain pours heavily from the sky, a heavy downpour paving the way for the dragons shrieking from above – already they begin to circle and dive as the villages scream and clamor for their weapons.

Iza spares a single fleeting thought for the grazing flocks of animals, plump after a summer of eating and trapped beneath metal cages. But her mind leaps, making other connections, and before she can command it, her feet are already slipping through mud as she dashes through the rain toward her home at the top of the hill.

There is some time – not much, but some – for her to get home and – and _do something_ before the dragons come. They are not far as she looks over her shoulder, but they are also not on top of the village, either. She has time.

Breathless, Iza crashes through the door of her home with her heart beating hard against her ribcage. There is a clang as Carlisle drops the iron poker he had picked up, a flimsy defense for the impending dragon attack. Iza ignores him, mismatched eyes already locked on a corresponding pair; Eko stares back, head high and alert, the frills around her neck and atop her head standing stiff. Eko's tail sways back and forth. Iza nods, lost for words, and Eko slinks out of the longhouse.

Carlisle goes to follow and Iza almost stops him – but something stops her, something outside of herself prompts her to _move_ and _speak_. So she grabs her God-gifted bow and her God-gifted quiver and she says, "Medicine," and watches as Carlisle scrambles for the pouch he's been painstakingly putting together for weeks. He pulls it around his waist and follows Iza out of the house, obviously scared but brave enough to put his own fear aside.

"Stay behind us," Iza orders shortly. "Tend to those who need you."

Carlisle nods, a determined set to his mouth.

And Iza, without a moment to pause and think or _rethink_ or hesitate, slings her leg over Eko's back, right above the joint of her wings. She settles between the frills along Eko's spine, finds her balance, then then mentally urges Eko to _go_ – all the while her eyes are unblinkingly set on the dragons now flying over the village, gas and fire and acid dripping from their maws.

Iza does not know what possesses her – because the very last thing Iza considers herself is a _brave warrior_. She is not a Valkyrie. She is not the warrior princess Sif who shears the harvest and protects her husband's blind side. She is not anything but Iza, a girl who is bonded to a dragon.

But there is something guiding her, something that is foreign and familiar. She feels detached from herself, but also more herself than she has ever been. It is the same feeling that led her to find Eko's mother, that led her to cradle a dragon egg to her breast, that allows her to listen to Alise and unflinchingly pursue her own destiny.

And it is the instinct she now allows to guide her as the nocks an arrow on her bow, taking aim even as Eko's powerful wings pump again and again, raising the both of them into the sky. Iza hardly notices that she is in the air, riding a dragon and so far above everything she has ever known or touched. If her belly swoops in time with Eko's wings, then she hardly notices. All of her attention is saved for sending an arrow through the wing of the dragon heading toward the Great Hall. The dragon crashes to the ground and the villagers take care of the rest.

Iza turns her attention elsewhere, tuning out the sound of battle cries as she and Eko – as one – flit through the air. Eko is fast, faster than any of the other dragons around her, and that is enough to divert many dragons away from the village proper. Eko circle and circles, drawing a wider perimeter of peace around the village as Iza picks off the dragons that are too stubborn to be intimidated by the ferocity of Eko's breed.

There are only a few dragons that fall to Iza's arrow, but she considers it a travesty each time.

Something about being up in the air warps Iza's perception of time. She catches glimpses from above – Carlisle scurrying to help give aid to women and children, Jaspar and Emebor fighting side by side, Edvard throwing himself into the fray with a longsword – but these sights are fleeting. Still, it feels like the tides have turned for this battle –

Except _there!_

Eko banks to the side in an instant, drawing her wings up to slow their descent as they approach where two dragons have gathered around a pen of animals just outside the village. Even as Eko lands gracefully on the ground, Iza is pulling back on her bow, ready to fire on the dragons who have already killed half a flock of sheep.

Her fingers loose the arrow – but at the last possible second, Iza jerks the bow to the side slightly and her arrow lands harmlessly between the two dragons.

For a moment, Iza almost cannot believe that she had not taken a killing shot that was _right there_. But then she understands it, a slow-rolling emotion building in her chest that does not belong to her.

Eko did not want Iza to kill the dragons.

Why? What did Eko notice that Iza did not?

She takes a second look and understands.

It's not something she would have noticed before Eko, but now she does. Iza is familiar with what a heathy dragon looks like – and these dragons are gaunt, more scale and bone than muscle. These dragons are hungry, starving even, and although they are dragging cages off the charred animals, they _are not eating_.

Why wouldn't a starving dragon eat a fresh kill?

_Something is not right_, she thinks and feels Eko's agreement at the edge of her thoughts.

But while Iza and Eko have stalled their offensive attack, the two dragons have not. One spits fire at Eko – and it marks the very first time another dragon or _anything_ has ever outright attacked Eko, which is maybe why what happens next is such a shock.

The dragonfire, blue and so very hot, arches toward them. Yet the moment it comes to close, Eko lets out a low, sub-vocal _scream_ and a bubble of amber erupts around her, shielding the both of them from the fire. The amber shield seems to _absorb_ the fire, like cotton taking on water – but then Eko makes the same almost-not-sound and the amber-tinged fire races back to the dragon who had sent it. As the dragon shrieks in pain from its own dragonfire, Eko's wings draw back and her frills stand proudly again.

A silent dare.

The other dragon takes a meek step backward, turns and flies into the sky, quickly followed by its somewhat-charred companion. Any dragons left are quick to follow their example. Iza watches as they all struggle to find strength to rise back into the clouds and then her eyes drop to the burned sheep scattered in the pen.

It is, she thinks, the first time the dragons have not taken any prizes after battle.

But knowing that the dragons are starving, Iza is not sure if she should feel proud or not.

She does not have a moment to spare the thought any consideration because soon enough villagers are gathering around – yelling and crying defamation at Iza, who is still perched on Eko's back. Some villagers are brave enough to charge at them, but Eko's amber shield holds strong, sending the villagers onto their backs as their own attacks reverberate back on them.

And all the while, Iza stares, suddenly dizzy and bereft of that instinct that had guided her through dragonbattle.

She can only stare and breathe – and stare and breathe.

But then a voice rises through the cacophony. "Enough!"

* * *

**A/N: That's right - Eko can _echo_ attacks. I love a good wordplay, y'all. Wonder who is breaking through the crowd?**

**Viking stuff for this chapter: Sif. Now, not a lot is known about Sif, other than Loki cut off her golden hair, which is meant to symbolize harvest. Sif is a goddess of the harvest and also married to Thor. But since that seems kind of one-dimensional, I also combined her with MCU warrior Lady Sif, because I do what I want.**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae **


	18. eighteen

**Eighteen**

"Enough!"

For a moment, complete silence falls – silence created by shock. Iza is shocked as well, because the voice that momentarily silenced the crowd is her own. She has never heard her voice in this pitch before, high and resolute and commanding. It is a tone she has never needed to use, because it was so much easier to gently wheedle her will into others.

But this is a directive and the villagers listen, awed and wide-eyed and wary. And Iza sits astride her dragon and can do nothing except return the uneasy looks. Seldom is it that Iza truly speaks without thinking, and now that she has, she does not know what to do next.

The silence stretches, swords and farming tools slowly lowering. Iza breaks the silence, softly repeating, "Enough. That is enough." Her words float through the air, carried by a small breeze that smells of charred mutton and heavy rains.

Belatedly, Iza realizes she is soaked to the bone. She does not feel the chill or the way her hair is plastered to her back. She does not feel much of anything, except for an extremely postponed swooping of her stomach from _flying on a dragon_ and heart-hammering adrenalin pumping through her veins, leaving her fingers tingling. The bow in her hand which had once been deliberately dirtied to hide its origin has now been washed clean by the rain, and it gleams in the low lighting as rain continues to steadily pour from the sky. Iza does not bother to hide it once more.

She thinks that the time for hiding things has long since passed.

But she does not know where to go from here – she does not know what to say. And her silence only gives the village time to dissent, because someone mutters _traitor_ and suddenly the mob is riled once more. Even surrounded by Eko's shield, Iza has the urge to turn and flee.

"All of you shut up!" Edvard roars as he breaks through the crowd of angry villagers. He moves to stand in front of the crowd, his back to Iza and Eko as he speaks with authority. "Iza and her dragon have just saved all our lives and ensured the safety of the entire village! You should be on your knees thanking her, not spitting curses at her feet!"

Iza's heart clenches. "Edvard," she murmurs, far too low for him to be able to hear her.

"She has a dragon!" someone cries out.

"Yes, exactly!" Edvard agrees. "She has a dragon – a dragon who listens to her commands and willingly shows Iza loyalty!"

Edvard's declaration is met with another slew of loud voices and Edvard matches each one with great vehemence, standing tall and unmoved in the face of such controversy. He handles the villagers in such a way that Iza suddenly realizes exactly why her father has chosen him for next Chieftain. Edvard has a leadership that cannot be taught. Even angry and confused, the village listens to Edvard.

He manages to calm them enough that a slight form can slip through the crowd to stand at his side. With a start, Iza recognizes Alise and the familiar haze in her eyes. "Can you not see how swiftly the tides turn with this one dragon?" Alise asks the villagers, her voice floating through the air as if not tied to this realm. "Imagine if we joined with the dragons."

"Join with them?" another villager asks with incredulity.

Alise turns her dazed eyes toward the voice. "Surely you did not think these dragons attacked by their own choice?"

And with that one declaration, Alise sends the villagers into another tizzy – this one met with even more protests and debate. Yet both Alise and Edvard are both unmoved. Iza realizes they must have spoken about this privately at some point. She wonders if she should be bothered that they keep secrets from her, but decides that she has no footing to stand on as she kept a much larger secret herself. Besides, there is nothing that Alise does without a reason.

And what Alise has just said – Iza thinks to the gaunt dragons, all scale and bone and dull-eyed, and knows deep in the pit of her stomach that Alise is right. These dragons that have been plaguing the village for most of Iza's life, these dragons who have burned houses and killed livestock, these dragons who have taken Viking lives…these dragons are being made to be vicious. It seems obvious now. Iza can tell just from knowing Eko that dragons, by nature, are not cruel creatures. They are made of magic and fire, but they are not gleeful killers.

But who could make so many dragons attack villages? And who is starving these dragons while they are enslaved? Who is the puppeteer?

Iza strokes her hand along Eko's neck, her pale, rain-soaked, mud-splattered skin a great contrast to Eko's inky blackness, and she _thinks_. And as she thinks, she watches the villagers debate and argue, watches as the Elders are dragged forward and as they examine Eko from the safe distance created by the amber shield, watches as Alise calmly mediates and explains her half-dreamed visions. And as she watches, her eyes are helplessly drawn to the terse, broad outline of Edvard's shoulders where he stands so resolute before Iza and Eko, fingers curled warningly around the hilt of his sword.

The rain continues to fall as the sun sets behind the clouds and the village continues its upheaval as they all strain to grasp the abrupt new order their world has begun. And Iza, the catalyst to it all, feels something settle _deep_ into her bones – a satisfaction, a sense of a duty completed, an instinct finally sated, at least for a time.

By the time the clouds clear and the moon hangs in the sky, the humble Viking village of Forks has come to a tentative understanding.

It is not until several days later that Iza will truly know what that understanding means for _her_.

* * *

**A/N: A short, but important chapter. Imagine what you will about these Vikings losing their shit over these dragons - I'm sure it was very _loud_. Also there was a _huge_ hint dropped about Iza this chapter and super kudos to anyone who puts it together. Fair warning, it does require a more-than-casual knowledge of Norse mythology. **

**Anyway. No other Norse things in this chapter!**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	19. nineteen

**Nineteen**

Iza is not sure she heard correctly, but the determined expressions returning her incredulous stare remain steadfast. Still, she needs to be sure. "You want me to what?"

"Find us dragons," Róża drawls out, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder. The braids at her temples only show off her exquisite face and her coolly assessing gaze. She pins Iza in place, leaving no room for argument.

"And then teach us to fly them," Jaspar adds. Although remarkably identical siblings, Jaspar has always been somewhat softer, somewhat quieter than his sister. A fierce warrior, but one prone to thoughtful silences, something which Alise praises with moons in her eyes.

But none of Róża's intimidating looks or Jaspar's amicable demeanor mean anything at the moment – not to Iza, who can only replay their words over and over again in her head. _Find us dragons. And then teach us to fly them_.

As if either of those things were _easy_.

Iza should perhaps be less surprised than she is, but she can still be knocked over by a feather at this demand disguised as a request.

For the past few days the only people to pay her any mind were Alise, who has become a mediator in the village, Edvard, who has taken to patrolling around the Chieftain's home, Jakob, who regarded his cousin with stars in his eyes, and Carlisle, who hardly counted because as Iza's _technical_ slave his opinion hardly mattered to anyone who wasn't Iza or Eko. Iza has been more isolated than ever now that Eko has been revealed, but she is at peace with it. Rarely does the village as a whole like her, anyway. And she's glad to have Mik's skittishness and the wary glances of the Elders as far from herself as possible.

Even in this short time, Iza has come to find comfort in the quiet. She is less stressed than she has been in her whole life in the wake of these revelations. Part of her is restless, her mind working over the issue of the starving dragons, but for the most part, she is glad to be left alone. The alternative is certainly worse.

Still, she should have known it would not last. And she should be less surprised that it is _these_ tall blond siblings that would be the first to seek them out. Neither Jaspar or Róża have ever been the type to sit idly, after all. And Iza suspects that Róża, like herself, is constantly chomping at the bit to become_ more_. Iza has seen Róża best Emebor with a longsword, after all. Pity that female Viking raiders are so rare – Róża would make a perfect one. As it is, Róża has some of the most reliable seidr in the village and a small, petty part of Iza chafes at the notion that Róża will best _her_ in _yet another thing_ if Róża takes up dragons, as well.

Iza is stronger than her own pettiness, however, and pushes the errant thought away. Just because Iza does not have seidr does not mean she should prevent those who _do_ have seidr from seeking dragons. It's in her best interest that dragons are accepted, after all. It's in _Eko's_ best interest – and nothing will get in the way of that, not even Iza herself.

Iza sighs, looking between Róża and Jaspar. "To be clear…you want to have your own dragons?"

"Yes," Jaspar says simply.

"Obviously," Róża says with a roll of her eyes.

_They want their own dragons_, Iza thinks dumbly.

And it is not that Iza does not _want_ to help her peers assimilate to dragons – because it would truly be very helpful for _so many reasons_ – but the timing is bad. The Chieftain and the raiders have been gone for almost an entire season, just a little longer than usual, and everyone is growing anxious for it. There is a shared thought they all do not dare voice – what if the Chieftain does not return? What if the raiders have died? What if the ocean has taken the strongest of their village?

And for Iza – what will she do if she becomes a true orphan in a village that _at best_ tolerates her these days? She knows it is only her position as the Chieftain's daughter that has cooled the most violent urges of some villagers. Anyone else who would be so bold as to raise and ride a dragon would have been stoned on the spot.

Iza is fortunate, but her luck is attached to her father's continued leadership. If the Chieftain is dead or does not return soon, Iza will have to run. And that is not even taking into account the _Chieftain_'s reaction to Eko, because if he shuns Iza then she is as good as dead. Either way, Iza has packed a bag of essentials and instructed Carlisle to do the same – just in case.

Nevertheless, in all of Iza's circular thoughts about her immediate future, she had not ever entertained the idea that she would be asked to obtain dragons and train villagers to tame the creatures. And if she's honest, she does not even know if such a thing is possible.

Eko has been with Iza since she was an egg. They bonded during that time and in all the time since.

Iza has no idea if it is possible to bond with a dragon who is not hatched by a person. She has no idea if she and Eko are unique in this way, and neither does Eko.

What her peers ask of her is…monumentally difficult, to say the least. And she says as much.

"I never intended to find Eko or hatch her from her egg," she says to the siblings. "It just happened that way. And Eko is _unique_. I do not even know if it is possible for other dragons to be bonded to people."

With an intervention from Thor, she does not add, thinking of the scars on her chest. And by the Gods, what if one _has_ to be struck by Thor to bond a dragon? She shudders internally at the very thought.

"What is the harm in trying?" Jaspar wonders.

"I do not know where to even find other dragons," Iza argues.

Róża raises a single brow. "And have you ever let _not knowing_ stop you from doing anything before, Izabela?"

And at that single pointed statement, Iza feels all of her protests drain out of her. Never mind her amazement that Róża even paid enough attention to Iza to know that uncertainty was not enough of a deterrant for anything Iza put her mind to. No, the _real_ amazement comes from how starkly true the statement is – there is proof of Róża's words sprawled across the grass mere feet away, soaking up warm sunlight with two-toned eyes lazily trained on their visitors.

Iza had not let _not knowing_ stop her from hatching or raising or even riding Eko.

So why should she let _not knowing_ stop her from finding friendly dragons and teaching others how to tame the creatures? Surely such a thing would not be _too_ difficult. After all, Iza had managed it mostly by accident.

"Fine," Iza says. "But I do not know how long it will take."

Róża thrusts out her hand for Iza to shake. "Consider it an alliance, then."

Jaspar merely nods his agreement.

Later, Iza will recognize this as yet another turning point. But for now, she sees it as a welcome distraction from the sudden tumult of her life.

Of course, as all things tend to be, fulfilling Róża and Jaspar's request is much more complicated than she initially thought it would be. The only good thing that comes from the futile efforts searching the forest for other dragons or at least other dragon eggs is the amount of practice Iza gets for flying with Eko. By the end of the second day, both Iza and Eko are comfortable with the tandem flight – it feels as if Iza and Eko have always flown together, that is how much they are of one mind when they are in the air.

But the end of the second day also finds frustration – because there are no dragons to be found. No eggs, no tracks, and no dragon scent that Eko can follow. Which is all very strange, considering that dragons have always flown from this area of the forest.

_Perhaps the dragons are more wily than I thought_, Iza considers.

_What do you mean? _Eko wonders.

Iza turns her eyes in the opposite direction, looking up toward the mountain in the distance, the mountain that none of the villages in the area would dare approach. The cursed, fog-cloaked mountain, topped with snow year round and made from the darkest of black rock.

_What if the dragons come from the mountain rather than the trees or the high skies?_ Iza asks through their mental link. She is rewarded with Eko's first fuzzy memories from within her egg, the comfort she felt being nestled in embers and tucked away into the deepest shadow of a cave.

Eko has the notion that, _yes_, dragons might be creatures of the sky but they are all born of the most ancient earth magic. And what is more ancient than a towering mountain?

Unseen, a sharp-tongued trickster watches the girl and the dragon from realms away and he smiles into the seidr mirror he uses for scrying. "Now you're getting it, Halfling. Your mother will be ever so pleased."

* * *

**A/N: Suddenly got inspired for this story, so the next few chapters have a _plan_! We're also probably over the middle hump of the story. I don't think it will be more than 30 chapters. **

**No Norse things for this chapter. **

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	20. twenty

**Twenty**

"Interesting that I should find you here rather than allowing your lovelorn heart to have you nipping at the heels of a certain doe-eyed dragonrider."

Edvard stiffens, pausing the drag of the whetstone against the shining straight of his favorite sword. His fingers tighten around the leather-wrapped hilt but he makes a point of continuing honing his weapon. He has not been obviously bothered by the owner of this silvery voice since he was a boy. Edvard has long-since mastered the art of appearing unaffected, just as he has long-since mastered controlling the power in the blood coursing through his veins.

Edvard is so practiced that, unless he is actively thinking of it, he can almost forget the secret he keeps.

So his response to the voice is finely-crafted and aloof. "Loki," he greets placidly. He does not think about the other things he has called Loki – _Master, Friend_, and the most forbidden…

Loki, of course, always seems to know what Edvard is thinking. Loki slinks from the half-shadows in the small clearing Edvard plans to claim for his own longhouse. "Ah-ah-ah," Loki tuts playfully. "That's not what you should be calling me, no?"

Edvard stubbornly remains silent. He has learned not to rise to Loki's bait.

Loki sighs, put off by Edvard's unwillingness to _play_, but his lips curl upward in amusement as he continues on his previous train of thought. "Of course, you would have no need to follow your ladylove when you have such a quaint tracking charm placed on her –"

"For her _safety_," Edvard grits out. He curls his hands into fists and clenches his jaw when Loki laughs, a silvery, condescending sound. Edvard closes his eyes, briefly cursing himself for responding _exactly_ as Loki wants him to. Silently, he resigns himself to the inevitable and braces to match wits with the silver-tongued trickster himself.

"A spell is a spell, my boy, and you have cast such a nice one."

Edvard levels Loki with a flat stare – and for the first time in a while, matching green eyes meet with a familiar spark of magic. "I did learn from the best. Father."

Loki is immediately delighted, clapping his hands together in glee. "Oh, I do so love when you acknowledge me."

"Usually when I do, you are quick to leave. Do not mistake this for fondness."

Loki's eyes glitter. "I would be a fool to do so, since all of your fondness is reserved for darling Izabela."

Edvard glares.

The trickster ignores him, tapping his chin. "What I cannot figure is why you remain in this tawdry village while she ventures into the treacherous depths of those mountains," he ponders. Shrewd green eyes pierce through Edvard. "Unless you think you would not be welcomed."

That stings, because Edvard _is not_ sure if his company would be welcomed by Iza or her dragon. The least he had been able to do to protect her was place a tracking charm – but such a simple spell would be less useful the further away she was and he has been grappling with the decision to stay or go all night as a result.

And here Loki is, encouraging him to tag along.

Loki never does anything without an ulterior motive. Edvard just has to decide whether he will be a willing tool yet again or not.

For Iza, he can imagine doing much worse than playing a role in one of Loki's plays if it meant he could ensure her safety.

"I never thought I would see the day where one of my blood would show such cowardice," Loki goads. "Even Sleipnir shows more spine when he bucks Odin off his back."

Edvard glowers at Loki.

Loki's smile widens.

"The nearer I am to anyone, the more I am at risk of revealing the seidr _you_ have cursed me with," Edvard spits out. There is bitter resentment for the green the sparks off his fingers, brought forth by his temper and the nearness to the original source of magic from whence it came.

Loki loses his cheer and shifts into a threatening pose in the space of a breath, invading Edvard's space with a swell of dark power. "And what makes you think of my gift as a curse? The fact that you are a Halfling, neither mortal nor immortal, or the fact that you think being half of something means you must be wholly alone?"

Edvard grits his teeth, because Loki has pinpointed the exact issue. Naturally. The bastard.

Loki straightens up, unaffected and unruffled by Edvard's sullen discourse. "My child is so ignorant," he complains to the trees. Loki scoffs. "As if I would ever encourage you to follow your pining heart for anyone who _is not_ at least your equal. And luckily for you, your beloved Halfling is also Thor-touched. I could not ask for a better match."

Edvard barely has a chance to process – or _react_ – to Loki's blithe revelations before Loki is once again looking down at him with a smirk and narrowed eyes. Loki reaches forward and flicks Edvard right in the center of his forehead –

And then –

Edvard

goes

somewhere

else.

* * *

**A/N: How do you move a plot forward? Shove it off a cliff! On that note, I might have underestimated the chapter count... :)**

**Norse things for this chapter! Sleipnir is really a child of Loki's in mythology, who Odin has basically enslaved as punishment for one of Loki's schemes. Odin is more than a little bit of a dick. Sleipnir is also ridden into Hel a lot for some reason, I _guess_ because he's the fastest, bestest horse around? Unclear. Who knows? Real shame we lost so much of Norse Mythology to...like the ocean or something. Lots of context is missing from the two Eddas we _do_ have access to.  
**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	21. twenty one

**Twenty One**

Iza is not one to curse, not like the Vikings in her village when the meade has gotten to their heads and their voices grow into a loud chorus of jeers and grumbling. But when the unexpected does happen, she always finds herself calling to the first God that comes to her mind.

So, it is not surprising that when a dull _pop_ and a _thud_ sound through the night and a shadow falls before the fire she painstakingly, Iza's first reaction is to let out a low oath. "_Odin's beard!"_

Eko, who had curled her body around Iza's, rumbles in agreement. It is a distinctly threatening sound from a creature who is, by most standards, shockingly amicable.

Heart racing, Iza leans forward, sets her eyes on the surprise of her life, and tries to wrap her mind around this strange turn of events.

Edvard had appeared out of nowhere – literally out of nowhere, with nothing more than a puff of deep green and black smoke to speak of _how_ he arrived. Iza immediately suspects magic and Eko confirms, sniffing out the seidr cloaked around Edvard's prone form with her keen nose.

Edvard is unconscious and it is not ideal. He is too close to the fire, at risk of being burned, and gone for the world. Whoever sent him here – and _that_ list of possibilities is exceedingly short, considering how much power would be required to _transport a body by magic_ – had not thought ahead to give him a comfortable landing. Knowing what she does of Edvard, she supposes that the pettiness might be well-deserved.

But still. She cannot allow him to burn himself.

When a deep sigh, Iza climbs to her feet and shuffles around, wary of the heat sinking so quickly into her skin as she hooks her hands beneath Edvard's armpits and tugs. And tugs again. And then, with a grunt and a twisted face, Iza pulls back as much as she possibly can, trying to move Edvard's body to a less risky place. She succeeds in only moving him a few scant inches and frowns at his unconscious form.

By the Norns, he is _heavy_.

Iza shoots a look at Eko. "Would you mind?"

Eko sighs as much as a dragon can and then stretches forward, carefully closing her teeth around his boot and towing him several feet from the fire.

_Thanks_, Iza says silently.

_He smells funny, this human. _

_How do you mean? _

_He smells of not-human_, Eko answers simply.

And Iza _wonders_.

After all, she has learned that dragons – Eko in particular – are wise in ways that people simply are not. And Eko is learning this wisdom each day she grows older and can tap into the ambient knowledge of the earth and sky. If Eko thinks something is strange about Edvard, then something is strange about Edvard. It is not as if Iza will disagree – by her estimation, a God had sent Edvard here.

From her own experience, the Gods do not simply interact with humans without a reason. Even as accidental as Thor's lightning had been, she cannot fully believe it was _coincidental_ that the night of the storm culminated so perfectly.

Iza is, perhaps, growing a touch cynical.

With the sun already fully set, Iza does her best to assess Edvard's health as the night grows longer. She places her hand on his forehead, trying to feel for fever, and fights down her own blush as she concludes that he is reasonably healthy. Just unconscious. Deeply unconscious.

He must have hit his head when he…arrived.

Her conclusion is only supported when Edvard _remains_ unconscious even after the run rises. With the sunlight, Iza can see well enough to observe his health. Teaching Carlisle how to translate Saxon medicine to Norse has had the byproduct of giving Iza a passing knowledge of what conditions might be harmful. From what she can tell, with no fever and no obvious signs of injury and no difficulty breathing, Edvard is perfectly fine.

But knowing this, Iza comes to a different dilemma. She needs to continue her search for the dragons, as Eko has indicated that they are getting closer, but she cannot leave an unconscious man unattended. Yet each day that passes with Iza away from the village is another day the village is in danger – _and_ another day that the villagers grow restless, perhaps even violent upon her return.

Iza considers putting Edvard on Eko's back and flying like that. But while Eko is almost fully grown and capable of flying with _Iza_, there probably is not enough space for two riders without hampering Eko's ability to fully stretch her wings.

_I could carry him,_ Eko suggests, alongside an idea of toting Edvard around in her mouth.

Iza shakes her head. "No," she mutters. "What if you had to use your flame?"

Iza tries hard to wake Edvard, but he does not respond, and she sits back on her haunches with an irritated huff, silently cursing whoever had transported Edvard here. Biting her lip, Iza runs through all the options available to her – and then sits back with a resigned sigh.

They will not be going anywhere until Edvard wakes up.

_Whenever_ that is.

Hunger pangs at Iza's stomach, and with a task that she _can_ complete newly in her mind, she and Eko take turns passing through the forest around their camp in search for food. Eko is craftier than Iza, managing to catch a rabbit, while Iza makes-do with some berries she has determined are not poisonous and a load of apples that had fallen from a tree. She is glad for the juicy fruit, as there is no river or stream of water nearby and she has grown parched. Iza makes sure to set aside a few apples for Edvard for when he wakes up.

After eating, Iza wastes her time as the sun continues to rise in the sky and Eko dozens with half-closed eyes. Iza cleans mud from her boots. She checks the fletching on her arrows, not that they need checking since they continue to just magically replace themselves in perfect condition, no matter how many she pulls from the quiver. She gives a token effort to checking the string on her bow, but it shows no signs of fraying or other stress that might indicate in needs replacement. By the time impatience has taken to the restless bounce of her feet, Iza has braided her hair into a dozen crisscrossing sections off her neck, stacked a pile of rocks around last nights firewood, and even collected more berries just for the sake of something to do. She is seriously considering leaving Edvard, or at least kicking him until he wakes up, when he _finally_ shows signs of life.

Edvard blinks up at the near noon-day sun with a look of utter bafflement. If Iza were not so irritated that his unexpected presence has significantly slowed down her quest, she might have thought it was endearing. All the same, when those green eyes land on her and widen with surprise, Iza levels him with an unimpressed look.

"It is about time you woke up," she says uncharitably.

Edvard seems to ignore her attitude and turns his attention to taking a survey of himself. He pats at his chest, which is only covered in leather, and at the empty belt around his waist. Edvard's jaw clenches, the muscle jumping rapidly in irritation. "I do not have my sword," he says, clearly vexed.

"I have a knife," Iza offers. She pulls it from her boot, knowing full well that if either of them should have a blade, it should probably be the one with a fearsome reputation as a warrior and not the one who can barely bring herself to take down life prey. She hands it over, hilt first, and says, "Better than nothing."

Edvard does not look like he agrees, but he takes the knife anyway. Armed, he stands up on stable legs and dusts himself off, visibly disgruntled.

"How did you get here?" Iza asks, although she's already taken her guesses. From where she lounges beneath a tree, Eko turns a lazy eye to their conversation, ears perked forward in attention.

Edvard looks reluctant to answer, but he does eventually heave out an agitated sigh. "Loki."

Iza figured as much. Still, she raises her brows and crosses her arms over her chest. "And why would Loki see fit to send you here?"

Edvard hesitates. Hesitation from someone who _seldom_ hesitates is extremely visible, which is why Iza isn't keen on believing the next words that Edvard utters. "Must be another one of his tricks," he says, but all Iza can hear is the lie.

Loki might play tricks, but from what she knows after meeting him personally, there is little Loki does without having a reason.

So what reason would Loki have to send _Edvard_ to her? Obviously, for protection. Loki knows something that Iza does not about where she is heading and what she will encounter. Fine, she can accept that. If anything, it's good to have confirmation that she's edging toward dangerous territory.

But having figured _that_ out, Iza cannot fathom why Edvard would be lying. It is obvious why he was sent to her, so why does Edvard say that it is for a trick? The only explanation is that _Edvard_ is hiding something and using Loki as deflection. Iza has no doubts that Loki _did_ send Edvard to her – he has perhaps the strongest seider of all the Gods and the only one who regularly involves himself in mortal matters – but Iza does have doubts about Edvard's strange response.

But when faced with a trickster and with a liar, what is Iza supposed to do?

Perhaps the only thing she can do – continue with her mission. Find the dragons. Figure out who is controlling the dragons. Get back home, hopefully with more dragons in tow to show the villagers that the dragons do not _have_ to be feared.

Iza sighs and eyes Edvard. "Well, now that you are here, we might as well keep going." Following Edvard's eye toward Eko, she ends up shaking her head. "We both cannot fly with her. She is still too young," Iza says. "Eko will fly overhead to scout. You and I will walk."

Edvard nods his head once, sharply, likely seeing the sense in Iza's plan, not that she is in any way seeking his approval. "Lead the way," he says, and Iza suppresses a scoff.

As if Iza would do anything less.

* * *

**A/N: Like, who needs a man harshing our mellows when we're in a groove? I feel you, Iza, I really do. **

**No Norse stuff for this chapter!**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	22. twenty two

**Twenty Two**

Walking up a mountain is no small task. If Iza had to guess, she would easily say that no human had ever set foot on this dark mountain, with its unforgiving craggy rocks and overgrown vegetation. There is no foot trail to follow, and so she and Edvard end up carving their own meandering trail once they emerge from the forest the next morning.

They had spent an entire day and night hardly speaking, each lost in their own minds while Eko flew high over their heads. When they woke in the morning at the base of the mountain, they had merely exchanged a grim look and resigned themselves to a difficult climb. Iza takes heart in the fact that the did not need to waste breath talking about what to do, especially as she is determined to get at the root of this dragon issue one way or another. Not even Hel could discourage her from this path – not anymore.

And so they climb, ever forging upward even as they have to zig back and forth across the steep bases of the mountain. There are narrow expanses of natural land jutting from the mountain, horizontal cuts into the rocky face where small trees and bushes grow and where two humans can find their footing. It is perhaps slower climbing a mountain through lateral passes, but it is also easier. Iza has never been much of a climber, so she is glad that they can scramble upward one long level at a time.

Eko follows on foot for now, wary of going in the air and drawing attention to herself. Yesterday, Eko had not seen any other dragons while she was flying – but she also had a pervading sense of caution that kept her wings close to the treetops and mostly out of sight. This, more than anything, tells Iza she is moving in the right direction. Iza trusts Eko's instincts more than anything, so if Eko's instincts are telling her to turn back, then Iza considers her path one of progress.

There is nothing in life that is easy, after all. And caution is only just that – a warning to tread carefully as you go about your necessary tasks.

At this point, Iza doubts there is nothing that could stop her. Anything short of death and Iza will continue moving forward. It is that strange buzz beneath her skin again, that instinct that moves her body and pulls her mind ever forward. Iza keeps going because she does not think she can stop.

This is something that she must do. She knows it as well as she knows her own name.

It is only when hunger begins to gnaw at her stomach nearing mid-day that Iza clues in to the heavy stare on the side of her face. Iza blinks at Edvard and pretends that she had not been lost in the phantom sensation hooking around her middle and drawing her to keep moving. Best not to explain something that even she does not understand.

"We should take a break," Edvard says. He shakes the half-full waterskin they had filled before trekking up the mountain and nods his chin to the small leather pouch of fruits she had collected the day before. "We cannot afford to grow weak, not if we want to continue this pace."

Iza hums, glancing at Eko. Eko cocks her head to the side, ears perked forward as the dragon listens for sounds that humans cannot hear. When Eko relaxes, laying down in the sun with half-opened eyes, only then does Iza allow herself to drop down onto her bottom. She is only now noticing the burning muscles in her legs and the sheen of sweat that has gathered on her brow. It is a hot, sunny day. Already her skin has begun to pink.

Edvard remains as alabaster as ever.

They pass water and fruit to each other, taking careful sips to conserve a precious resource that cannot be refilled for some time. The fruit is quenching enough, but they also eat that with care, aware that they had not seen anything that a human could eat so far on this mountain - something which would likely not change, given how barren these narrow passes continue to grow.

Leaning her back against the heated stone of the mountain, Iza tips her head back and sighs, stomach gurgling as it is caught between hunger and satiation. She closes her eyes, breathes, tries to shake of the feeling that she needs to be _moving_. She is tired mentally, but her body, her very blood, does not recognize the fatigue. It is a strange feeling.

"About Loki…"

Edvard trails off as Iza pins him with a dual-colored stare. She finds his hesitation odd, even more strange than the fact that he would bring up Loki _now_. She thought that they had silently, if not mutually, agreed to not discuss Edvard's reasons for being here. There are some things better left unsaid, after all.

And yet, Edvard seems to think he needs to talk about it.

"There is nothing to be said about Loki," Iza says blandly with a deliberate shrug of her shoulders. "He does what he does. We are mere mortals and he is fond of playing games with us. Why ever he sent you to me, I am sure he had multiple reasons."

Her pointed remark is not missed by Edvard, who frowns and falls silent. She wonders then if he had just been speaking to fill the silence – and then disregards the thought, knowing that Edvard is not the type of man to speak for the sake of speaking. She frowns to herself and studies the pensive look on his face.

"Unless you know something I do not," she adds belatedly, an awkward addendum made in an attempt to make up for cutting off whatever point Edvard had been hedging toward.

Surprisingly, Edvard relaxes at her words, as if Iza has opened a door he has been trying to unlock. His green eyes look a shade lighter as he subtly straightens his shoulders. "Actually, I-"

Iza would probably never know what Edvard was going to say, because it is at that very moment that familiar, bone-chilling screeches fill the air. And not a moment later follows the heavy shape of fully grown dragons flying from one of the nearer mountain peaks, circling in the air and diving toward them with precision.

The dragons know they are here. Somehow, the dragons knew. And now, the dragons are coming for them.

Iza is on her feet with an arrow drawn in her bow before she even takes her next breath.

Her first shot is made without hesitation, a high arc that is meant to thwart rather than injure. Deep in the pit of her belly, she knows that she does not want to harm these dragons. Harming dragons has never been her first instinct, even before all of this began – and now with a dragon of her own, a dragon that is half of her heart as much as herself, even the thought of drawing dragon blood makes her blood curdle.

Iza is here to be an avenue for peace, not violence. And so she makes sure that her next shot is equally as thwarting, causing a dragon to swerve out of arrow range. It is a tactic that will not work for long, she knows. Even as much as she does not want to hurt the dragons, she also does not want to be hurt herself. On this rocky plateau they have stopped to rest at, there is no place to hide or take cover. They are very much cornered.

"Eko!" Iza calls.

Eko, who has scrambled up and crouched in front of Iza, quirks her head to the side, indicating that she is paying attention.

"In the air," Iza says. At Eko's obvious hesitation and the sense of reluctance that floats through their bond. Iza draws back another arrow again and thinks, _Try to deter them, make them go away, communicate with them – something._

Eko complies, albiet grudgingly. With two great flaps of her wings, Eko's slim, glossy black body lifts into the air and gracefully flows with the wind, flying sideways at the other dragons. Eko's wings are outstretched as she turns, smoothly cutting in front of the other dragons with a breath of smoke that is not quite dragonbreath of fire. Iza docks another arrow and watches, her eye keenly noting how much smaller Eko is compared to the other fully-grown dragons. Her stomach churns uncomfortably, a guilt from sending her dragon to directly fight against dragons much larger and more dangerous –

But what else is she to do? Iza lets her arrow fly at another dragon who comes from the other side of the mountain. There are four dragons now, not including Eko, and these dragons do not seem to be responding well to Eko at all. As Iza watches from the ground, Eko and a red dragon with horns turn to each other fully and engage in a fight. Eko is small, but fast, and her jaws clamp down on limbs; yet the red dragon has longer forearms and wicked claws, and swipes at Eko with the intent to harm.

Iza lets her arrow fly, aiming right for the flanks of the red dragon, a frown slashed across her face. Eko does not _feel_ hurt, but that does not stop Iza from the wall of protective feelings that well between her ribs. If anything could make Iza willing to hurt a dragon, it would be her own dragon being hurt.

But Iza's distraction with Eko's in-air fight has distracted her from the other three dragons and, with a great tug around her waist, Iza finds herself spun around and in the cage of protective, muscular chest – and then in the next moment, there is a roar, followed by a shimmer of green, and then a beat of silence.

Iza's mind races to catch up.

She had not been paying too close attention to what Edvard has been doing since the dragons began to attack them. She had faintly registered that he had taken out the knife she lent him, palming it in his hand with a displeased frown and the tense posture every warrior takes. He had shifted closer to Iza when Eko went into the air, but had kept some distance while Iza shot her arrows. He had kept the knife in his hand all the while, saving his only weapon for if – _when_ – the dragons came into closer range.

But then Iza had dropped her guard because of the red dragon and the other dragons had targeted her as being the greater threat – and one of those dragons had seen fit to breathe fire over Iza.

Only Edvard had stepped in, pulled Iza out of the way, spun them so that his back would take the brunt of fire and –

And he came out unscathed. Completely untouched by dragonfire and the following bouts of dragonbreath that followed.

Iza blinks rapidly, struggling to piece together what she is seeing.

From the safety of Edvard's arms, all that Iza can see is a shimmer of vibrant green sparking through the air. All around them in a full circle, the shimmering green makes Iza's mind draw a stark comparison to the amber shield that Eko had conjured not so long ago.

But Iza does not have seidr. Her magic is scant in her veins, making her strange from other women in the village, who are all capable of basic magic – lighting fires, conjuring water, mending small injuries, and soothing magic for babes. Iza has never been capable of _any_ magic and has known that her blood is free of any seidr that other women have. Iza is like the Viking men in the village, her blood inert and stagnant, not thrumming with the life of the universe. Except for her inexplicable ability to bond with Eko, Iza has no magic of her own to speak of.

So the shimmering green seidr around Iza and Edvard does not belong to her. Even if it is a shield, it certainly is not _Eko's_ shield, as hers is amber and Eko is still very much busy fighting the red dragon. And Iza doubts any of the dragons currently breathing flame over the shield would _also_ be erecting the shield.

Which leaves only one possibility.

Green magic. Green eyes in a shade that has always seemed so much _more_ than any other green eyes in the village. Loki suggesting that there are other Halflings in the village. Loki sending Edvard to Iza, out of the blue and for no apparent reason. Edvard's acceptance of Eko. Edvard's defense of Iza to the village.

The thought is almost incomprehensible but –

Edvard has seidr. It _must_ be his magic that is shielding them now, because it cannot be anyone or anything else.

Edvard is not just a warrior and hunter favored by the Chieftain. He is not only an orphan, the adopted son of a farmer, the adopted brother of a Frigg-blessed sister. He is not a mere stoic presence, admired by many and respected by all.

He is Edvard Lokison.

Iza's mind buzzes around this new information, fitting stay pieces together into a new image of Edvard that she can reconcile later. _Later_, because now is not the time to be having an internal crisis – not when there are dragons at their back and not when Eko is fighting her own battle.

So Iza shoves away the unease, spins out of Edvard's arms, and turns to face down the three dragons beyond Edvard's shield with her bow drawn. She aims an arrow right down the throat of a large, dusty brown dragon breathing putrid, yellow flames of gas, and steadies her hand when she feels the urge to flinch from the snapping maws of the other two.

"Do not make me kill you," Iza warns lowly.

The small part of her that held hope that these dragons would respond to her shrivels up when the dragon does not respond. She was naïve to think otherwise. Steeling herself, Iza lets her arrow fly forward, through the shield that parts beneath her Loki-gifted weapon and directly to the back of the dragon's throat. The creature makes an awful, heart-breaking screech and stumbles back.

Iza moves to ready herself another arrow, prepared to shoot again to at least lessen the dragon's pain, but a familiar knife flies by the side of her face and embeds itself in the throat of the dragon, at the exact right spot for blood to gush between scales. The dragon falls.

For a moment, there is silence. And then violence erupts again, the dragons snapping at the shield and breathing flames over them, blue and orange and awful. In the air, Eko feels a fissure of pain that slips down Iza's spine, but then the red dragon is crashing toward the ground far down the mountain and Eko is landing decisively between the two remaining dragons.

And Iza does not know what happened in the air, as distracted as she had been by her own kill, but there is something different about Eko when her dragon opens her mouth and breathes out a band of molten fire. Thick and viscous, this fire coats the other dragon and begins to harden, locking the dragon down as it shrieks in pain. Eko does not hesitate to slash her glowing claws over the immobilized dragon, dancing backward on her hindlegs when the dragon disintegrates into ash. Dimly, Iza realizes that Eko has gained another ability – taken a new way to breathe fire from the red dragon she had killed and used that new ability to kill another.

The remaining dragon backs away warily, perhaps intending to flee. But then Edvard is stepping out of his shield and summons the knife with a flash of green magic.

It is clear to Iza that he intends to kil this last dragon by his own hand, but before he gets the chance, a cobalt blue dragon drops from between two rock formations and lands on the back of the remaining dragon's back. The blue dragon's claws dig into the dragon's wings, steadying itself as it opens its mouth and releases a gust of icy, chill blue air right over the dragon's head. The blue dragon makes a jerking movement, hopping off to breathe more ice over the last dragon – freezing it where it stand, and then watching as the dragon tips to the side, frozen to the core and breaking into great clumps.

This silence lasts longer. Chests heaving and hearts racing, two dragons and two humans languish in the quiet of the aftermath. Around them, the remains of beaten dragons are still.

Iza is the first to move, although her move is not intentional. Shaking from the rush of adrenalin, her hands go slack and the bow drops from her grasp, clanking onto stone noisily. She is trembling all over, her knees weak. Somehow, she finds herself crouched on the ground, breathing too fast and too little at the same time. She vaguely registered that Edvard has cautiously moved to her side, supporting her weight while keeping a wary eye on the blue dragon that had come to their aid. His shimmering green shield has disappeared and there is a fine sheen of sweat on his brow.

All the while, Iza's wide eyes watch as Eko and the blue dragon stare each other down, seeming to size each other up. The blue dragon is only slightly bigger than Eko, which must mean it is young. Iza has never seen a dragon of its like, or even heard of a dragon that breathes ice rather than fire.

She does not know why this dragon helped them.

Overwhelmed by all these events and revelations, Iza is not sure she _wants_ to know. And yet – someone has to make a decision. Eko will not move unless she is sure Iza is okay and Edvard does not seem inclined to do anything other than glare mistrustfully at the blue dragon.

So it falls to Iza, as things usually do. As they _should_, because this is _her_ mission.

And because there is that odd, restless tingling in her fingertips that is beginning to supersede the trembling aftershocks of her first true dragon kill.

Quietly, with a voice that faintly wavers, Iza speaks. "We need to find shelter. A place to hide. A place to plan." Iza turns her head just enough to look at the blue dragon head-on, a tug in her heart telling her to trust this dragon. "Can you show us where?"

Edvard's grip around her shoulder tightens and Eko sends her a wave of contention through their bond, but neither man or dragon speak against Iza's decision.

The blue dragon lifts its chin, shoots Eko a look of warning, and then turns around toward the side of the mountain where it emerged from.

And they follow.

* * *

**A/N: Let's play a game. I call it, "Help The Author Name The New Ice Dragon". It's kind of like Pin the Tail on the Donkey, but not like it at all. Basically, you just help me name this damn dragon. Please.**

**Norse things for this chapter - a reminder of what seidr is. Okay, so it's not _really_ a Norse thing. I mean, the Vikings did believe that math was witchcraft and they left finances up to the women, so they probably also believed that women were witches and had magic. But calling it seidr is directly from the MCU. It's just another word for magic. What kind of magic? Who the fuck knows. Not me, that's for sure.**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	23. twenty three

**Twenty Three**

Eko and the blue dragon stare at each other warily from across the narrow cave the blue dragon has led them into. Hidden between the peaks of two craggy outcroppings, about halfway up the larger mountain, is a small pass of a thin valley that leads down a slope into zigs of interconnected caverns. From where Iza stands at Eko's shoulder, she can see the way the rear of the cave opens into a wider branch, surely connected to more under-mountain passes.

But the blue dragon has only led them to safety. It does not allow them a step further.

Iza is caught by the sharp intelligence in its eyes – so like Eko and so unlike the dragons that they have just slayed. There is something different about this blue dragon, something that makes it different from the others. Iza rightly reckons it is because _this_ blue dragon is not being controlled by a hidden puppeteer.

The blue dragon is independent. And judging by the way it guards the rear of the cave, there must be other dragons like it.

Hope blooms in Iza's chest, unfurling slowly and with caution just like daisies in the early mornings of spring. This is good news, if it is true. Finally, there is _something_ that goes the way she wants it. She does not think she could handle yet another surprise – Edvard having seidr and unmistakably being the son of Loki is quite enough.

With the blue dragon standing proudly before them, Iza sees how her mission for the village is rekindled.

But she needs this dragon to cooperate. Earlier, the dragon had responded directly to Iza speaking with it, so she assumes that this dragon understands the human tongue. She clears her throat, calling attention to herself as she prepares to speak to the dragon again.

"We are not here to harm anyone. We are seeking peace between dragons and humans," Iza says bluntly, carefully watching the blue dragon for any indication of understanding. The blue dragon's icy, almost grey-white gaze, is unblinking. Iza frowns. "You understood me before," she tells it.

At this, the blue dragon blinks lazily with a flickering of a blue forked tongue. Eko's frills stand upright at the action, almost as if offended.

From where he stands near the entrance of the cave, Edvard decides to speak up. "It does not seem like the dragon wants to cooperate."

Iza refrains from rolling her eyes at his mildly threatening tone. "The dragon helped us earlier when it did not have to. Now, it has taken us to shelter. Clearly, the dragon has some goal," she says over her shoulder. She turns to look at the dragon closely. "Is it that you cannot speak to _me_, because we are not bonded?" Iza guesses.

The dragon inclines its head and Iza shoots Edvard a triumphant look.

"Then will you speak with Eko?" Iza asks.

And the blue dragon does.

Iza has never seen two dragons communicate before, never mind _Eko_ speaking in the dragon tongue. To her human ears, the dragons make a series of pitchy intonations and rumbles between sharp teeth. It certainly does not sound like a conversation, but there is clearly something being exchanged between the two, as Eko silently relays on the information she gathers from the conversation.

The blue dragon is called Kaldr and he is part of a rebellion, of sorts. What he is rebelling against is unclear, but he makes it known that he is essentially a guard for other dragons of like minds in the mountain. There are evidently not many dragons in this rebellion, which is why they can hide so easily, and most of them are much younger than the dragons that frequently attack the village.

Kaldr is intrigued by the fact that Iza and Eko are bonded, as he thought that dragon bonding was a legend of old. He also says that Edvard stinks of magic, which Eko agrees with now that she understands what she is scenting.

But for all that they learn from Kaldr, he is still obviously hiding some information – things that Iza suspects but needs confirmed. Yet with Kaldr's overall disinterest in the humans and his reluctance to share more than minimal information with Eko, she is not sure of how to move forward.

One thing for certain is that Kaldr _will not allow_ them to move past his guard. They are to go no further into the mountain. But at the point, neither is it safe to leave the mountain.

Iza presses her lips together and _thinks_. She looks at Edvard, silently asking what they should do, and he shrugs, looking like he wants nothing more than to have some kind of weapon in his hand. He does looks rather bereft without one.

They cannot leave and they cannot move forward. For now, they need to stay where they are. Maybe when night falls, the darkness will cloak them enough to do _something_. But moonrise is hours and hours away. And right now…

"Kaldr," Iza says somewhat abruptly. The blue dragon shifts his white gaze to her, attentive. "Could you breathe some ice for us so that Eko can melt it down? If we cannot move, we might as well slake our thirst."

Kaldr shifts on his feet, dropping into a slightly lower stance, and tilts his head downward, to the side. When he opens his mouth, a thin blast of ice rushes past the gleaming white of his teeth. The ice piles on the cave floor until a small mound is made, the formation clearly deliberate in its height and shape. The ice is not like any Iza has seen fall from the sky or spread across the fjords in winter – it is crystalline, so clear it is almost blue, and forms together in long, smooth, sharp chunks.

Eko watches Kaldr, ears pinned to the side in curiosity. Through their bond, Iza can feel Eko's curiosity. Eko wants to know how the blue dragon had _breathed ice_ – and so easily as well.

_You have your own strengths,_ Iza reminds Eko, thinking of the amber shield and the way her claws glow to turn things to ash. And of the way Eko can now breathe thick, molten fire that hardens to stone – an ability she took from the red dragon she fought earlier.

Iza wonders if Eko must kill to learn a new skill or not. She hopes not, as killing is a terrible burden. She also knows that it is not up to her, but rather Eko's very nature.

Eko dips her head in acknowledgement and moves closer to the ice. "One claw," Iza prompts, holding a waterskin at just the right angle to catch the most melting ice when Eko's claw heats enough to turn the ice to water. She fills her own water, then motions to Edvard to fill his, and then they all step away from the ice.

While Iza and Edvard retreat to one of the naturally smooth dips in the stone of the cave where resting might be more comfortable, Eko lingers near Kaldr. Quietly, the two dragons begin making those pitched intonations again. Iza feels her lips curve, just a bit. Eko is socializing with another dragon – it certainly is not something that is seen every day.

Iza has seen many things this day that are not seen every day.

She looks at Edvard and wonders which of them will bring it up first. With no more food stored on them and only water to fill their stomach, there is quickly no excuse to not speak of the sheep in the room.

"You have seidr."

Edvard's jaw clenches, an expression of tense unease crossing his face. "I do, yes."

Iza thinks about her strange interactions with Loki, about all that he has alluded to, and finds herself speaking. "You are not the only Halfling in the village," she says, repeating what Loki has told her before. She looks at Edvard, dual-colored eyes steady on his face. "And neither am I. Half of who or what, I do not know. Certainly none who have seidr, as you know that I have no magic. And I do not know whether it is my mother or my father who…Or if perhaps I was told a trick."

Edvard stares at her, pensive and silent for a moment too long. "I doubt it," he says eventually, his eyes trailing down to where her tunic has parted around her neck, showing the smallest of tendrils scarring her skin. "Not anyone could survive Thor. And you have always been…"

Yes, Iza has always been odd.

"So have you," she counters.

And it is true. Edvard was always set apart from their peers – too serious, too skilled, too quiet, too tragic. Always just a little too _good_, always a little too favored, always a little too lucky.

Whether that is fate or birth remains to be seen, but the fact is that, if the both of them thought about it, there are others in the village who are not quite average. Alise is a glaring reminder to them all that the Gods are always watching, always involved, even when they think they have been forgotten and their prayers unheard. And there are others who are not Alise or Edvard or Iza who are undoubtedly _unique_. An Elder, one of the youngest children in the village, a friend of her father's, a uncannily skilled fisherman – there are others who Loki could have been speaking of.

The two he was _certainly_ speaking of are now stuck in a cave together with two dragons. Iza has accepted that she is perhaps not as mortal as she always thought – there is too much evidence to ignore out of hand anymore – and she quickly adapts the same idea for Edvard.

Edvard Lokison.

"The seidr, yes," Edvard agrees. He flexes his hands, as if waiting for a spark of green magic, then clenches his fingers into a fist. "I am…not a child of a mortal father. The blood in my veins I share with Loki and the trickster has given me magic instead of fatherhood."

Edvard sounds so bitter about it that Iza's heart aches.

Yet she can relate. The Chieftain is a difficult man, gruff and often with impossible expectations to reach. Removed from his role as a parent, although he likely loves his daughter in his own way. But it is not the same as other relationships parents have with their children in the village – this Iza has known from a very young age.

"We are the same, in a way," she murmurs.

Edvard falls quiet again. "Perhaps," he agrees, voice hushed and almost unheard.

By that time, Iza's exhaustion is catching up to her and she has begun to lean more heavily against the smooth stone walls, her spine curving the shape of the cave. Her heavy eyes close, more than reassured of her safety in this strange place by how alert Eko is through their link, and by the mere fact of Edvard's presence. Her heart flutters at being so close to him now, when the only thing there is to do is rest rather than focus on an impossible mission on an insurmountable mountain.

Sleep must take her at some point, her body not used to such constant activity and excitement. But for all that her eyes rest, the sleep is light and her sore body remains alert – which is why Iza is on her feet just as quick as Edvard when a scuffle from the other side of the cave sounds through the echoing, empty space.

Beyond where Kaldr and Eko stand emerges another dragon, who seems to latch its attention onto Eko and ignore Kaldr's irritated squawking altogether. The dragon at the far end of the cave speaks to Eko and Eko stands alert, tail lashing slowly.

Without turning her eyes away from the dragons, Eko speaks directly to Iza's mind. _She wants us to go with her. There is a dragon we must meet. _

Iza, although this was not her original purpose of coming to this mountain, she can do little else but agree to the demands of this new dragon, that same tingling in her fingers telling her to _go_ and _trust_.

And when Iza steps forward, it is with Edvard at her back, shadowing her every step with a flicker of green magic.

* * *

**A/N: Well, would you look at that? Character development! And some plot stuff, I guess. **

**No Norse things for this chapter - but a big thanks for everyone who reviewed with name suggestions for our blue dragon here! I ended up tallying the most common suggestions - Kaldr/Kalt, Jokul, Frysta, Svell, and Issar - and conducting a Facebook poll-type thing. Kaldr seemed to be the favorite out of everyone, but don't worry, there are many more dragons to name!**

**In fact, I'm taking suggestions for dragons who breathe lightning, dragons that have stones for scales, and dragons with similar abilities to Eko! If you have a suggestion, drop a review. I might also have to do another Facebook poll if the suggestions are too perfect, so if you haven't found me already, my Facebook contact information is on my profile.**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~cupcakeriot**


	24. twenty four

**Twenty Four**

The tunnel they pass through is narrow, almost too narrow for any of the dragons taking the passage. Iza cannot imagine any dragon larger than Eko easily passing through, but both Kaldr and the deep red dragon who came to retrieve them are larger than Eko and still able to squeeze through. Iza and Edvard take the rear, exchanging a cautious glance in the muted light just before they emerge from the passage and enter a new world.

Iza takes one look at the massive hollowed cavern siting deep in the mountain and thinks, _magic_.

She has never seen anything like it in her entire life. The cavern is tall and wide, with rounded walls and sudden outcroppings of rock heavily coated in moss and vine. The air is comfortably warm and rich with noise from the chattering of dozens of dragons lounging across colorful vegetation. There is inexplicably a waterfall trickling into a small lake, which spreads into rivets carved into the moss-covered stone floors. Sunlight comes through the cavern from a hidden opening she cannot see.

But most importantly is the opalescent, white-tinged shield hugging every wall of the cavern. Iza is immediately reminded of Eko's amber shield and of Edvard's green shield – unmistakable marks of magic. She draws her eyes around the huge shield, dubious as she passes through with a faint shudder to enter the cavern fully. The dragons in the cavern fall silent and Iza's eyes are drawn to the large dragon staring placidly from a nest of flowers at the center of the cavern.

The dragon looks like Eko, if Eko had scales bleached by the sun and white eyes. But the frills are the same, and so is the intelligence shining through sightless eyes.

And so is the voice that enters Iza's mind, deeper and wiser than Eko's but undeniably female.

_Changemaker,_ says the dragon, a greeting that makes Iza lock her knees against the thrumming in her veins. The dragon's blind eyes stare at her – and Iza has a sense of nostalgia, of knowing and remembering, that has no place.

Iza shakes her head. "You know me," she says to the dragon.

_I am Dagmar and you are Changemaker_, the dragon says. Her voice in Iza's head is much louder than Eko's, a sound that rattles around Iza's skull like something that does not quite belong. Iza has the sense that Dagmar is very old and that this is the only reason she can speak to Iza. Listening to Dagmar is nearly painful, Iza's bond with Eko bristling at the intrusion – and although Eko spares the elder white dragon a mistrustful stare, her frills lay pinned back. Eko dislikes the voice in Iza's head, but she is not defensive of it.

Iza can only breathe in sharply as these realizations wash over her.

Dagmar is special. She must be, since she seems capable of protecting dozens of dragons beneath the nose of a different dragon that seems to be controlling all the others. Dagmar is different like Eko, but also so much _more_. As she stands near the base of where Dagmar lays, Iza is struck by the same feeling of an immovable force as she feels when she encounters Loki or hears Alise speak of the future as woven by Frigg and the Norns.

In Iza's head, Dagmar makes a sound of amusement. _Oh, Changemaker, you already know so much. _

Iza shakes her head. "I do not know much," she counters and as she speaks, she feels the heavy weight of Edvard's eyes fall on her. She can nearly sense the way his eyes narrow, darting between Iza and Dagmar, his body tense and probably wishing for a blade in his hand.

Seeming to sense Edvard's attention, Dagmar's sightless eyes shift upward, just slightly over Iza's shoulder. _Lokison,_ Dagmar acknowledges. But although the dragon is speaking about Edvard, Iza knows that Edvard cannot hear the dragon – only Iza and Eko and the other dragons are privy to Dagmar's voice. Iza just knows, deep in the marrow of her bones, that a dragon's voice is the one thing that Edvard's – or Loki's – magic cannot touch.

It must be bewildering to be surrounded by so many dragons, to be observing a one-way conversation, and to hear _nothing_ save for the occasional growl or hiss. Unnerving. Yet Edvard is an unflinching presence unwilling to move an inch from Iza's side.

_As protective as he should be_, Dagmar intones with interest.

"I do not know about that, either," Iza returns, willing the flush rising on her cheeks to fade away.

_Hmm. It is true that you know much, but it is also true that you are ignorant in many ways, Changemaker_. Dagmar's tail flicks lazily to the side, her chin dipping down to rest on her forelegs while her frills pin backward, relaxed and at ease even with that opalescent shield stretching wide around the cavern.

_Allow me to tell you that which you do not know…_ Dagmar begins, effortlessly drawing Iza into her thrall.

And that is how Iza finds herself seated at the feet of a white dragon in a strange haven for dragons, her mind filled with knowledge that makes her feel like she could burst at the seams. Dimly, she registers that Eko is off socializing and that Edvard stands warily at her back – but all of Iza's attention is focused inward as she kneels before the white dragon and stares up into sightless eyes.

Dagmar knows so much – knows _everything_ because she has seen everything. Truly, the blind dragon is as ancient as the mountain where her haven is hidden away, the mountain she was born with and destined to never leave.

Dagmar's blindness is not from age, however. The white of her eyes are scars from the dragon who had usurped Dagmar's place on the upper mountain, the same dragon who is controlling the others who attack the village. A ruthless dragon who is cruel and senseless and does not belong – but who is too strong for Dagmar to overtake. It has been so many years and Dagmar is still recovering, still weak and in pain.

_I am too weak to fight, but I am not too weak to help the younglings flourish_, Dagmar says at one point. _They have been spared a tyrant, yet they are too young to understand that their eagerness to fight alone is foolhardy. The mother of your Eko was one such foolish dragon…_

Eko's mother, the inky dragon with the green eyes who had managed to protect her egg from Thor's strike. Eko's mother, who fled from this cavern one stormy night, compelled by some force to lay her egg as far from the mountain as possible. Eko's mother, who shares the same bloodmagic as Dagmar and who had, by Dagmar's reckoning, made a noble sacrifice to summon the Changemaker.

To summon _Iza_.

Truly nothing had been by chance that night – not the dragon battle, not Thor's strike scarring her skin, and not finding Eko's dying mother and rescuing a dragon egg. According to Dagmar, these events have all been planned, part of a larger scheme known only by the Gods themselves.

As Dagmar puts it, Iza was born to be a pawn in a pivotal moment. Iza was born to be a Changemaker, to alter the course, to turn the tides.

Iza shakes her head at this knowledge. "I am not that important," she argues, blithely ignoring the way Edvard starts in surprise at the sudden flinty tone in her voice. "I have no magic, I have no talent, and I have no role to play in…in changing the outcome of destiny like you think! It is not possible. I am not that special."

At this Dagmar's chest rumbles in what must be laughter. _You are a thing of magic, Changemaker_, Dagmar rebukes firmly. _A heavy, subtle magic as deep as your bones. Your mother would have it no other way, girl. And by the Norns, she would know_.

A flutter spreads through Iza's chest at the mention of her mother, someone who Dagmar seems aware of. With a single sentence, Dagmar has confirmed that Iza's mother is not mortal and that Iza herself is not quite as human as she always believed. She cannot help but think of Loki calling her a Halfling – and wonders what kind of immortal she is half of if her magic is…innate and inert. Who had her mother been? And why is Iza the last to know?

She pushes these thoughts down, quick to change the subject before she can latch hope onto Dagmar's certainty that Iza is exactly as she is meant to be, inert magic and dragon bond in all. She has spent too long on the fringes to allow herself to be so easily swayed, even if her mother's apparent immortality is involved.

Iza steers her mind to the most important matter at hand – the dragon that Dagmar calls the Malice Striker, the dragons under his control, and the best way to ensure the safety of her village.

"I would like dragons to come back with me to the village," Iza says. "If they want to fight, they can join my people, who are also eager to find an end to this conflict."

Dagmar makes a thoughtful rumble. _If dragons are willing, they may leave with you. But you will find that it is rare for dragons to bond as you have with Eko. It is only because you are a Halfling child and a Changemaker that you are bonded by the magic of the Old Gods. No others will bond. _

Iza heeds Dagmar's words, but she also cannot imagine that it would pose much of a problem. "We do not have to bond the dragons to fight alongside them," she tells Dagmar. She does not mention that she finds it doubtful anyone in the village would _want_ to bond with a dragon in the first place.

_Then they may leave with you at daybreak_, Dagmar says.

Iza nods. There is not much else she can do.

_Take your rest, Changemaker. You and Lokison will be safe for the night_, Dagmar promises, the overbearing presence of her voice in Iza's head slowly fading out. Iza's head aches the slightest bit as the presence ebbs away. _Eat and drink your fill. You will need your strength…_

"Thank you," Iza murmurs, bowing her head deeply in respect to the ancient dragon. She moves to stand, stumbling when her knees shake under her weight. Edvard is quick to catch her with hands around her waist. She does not know how long she had spoken to Dagmar, but when she looks up at Edvard, she can see the fatigue on his sharp features. It must have been hours.

"We should sleep," Iza says to Edvard, dropping her eyes away from his face. She takes a step back, the skin beneath her tunic tingling when the warmth of his large hands disappears from her skin. Iza sternly turns her thoughts away from the girlish fluster of being so close to Edvard - now is not the time to be flustered.

It does not take them long to find a place to bed down for the night. The cavern is lush with plenty of green areas and it is not difficult to find a free space of moss that is wide enough for both of them to lay comfortably. They take turns visiting the waterfall of the cavern. While Edvard is away, Iza spends the time plucking ripe fruits from low-hanging branches and nearby bushes. She marvels at the robust freshness of the fruit, their weight heavy in her hands. She wonders if magic is the cause, wonders if Dagmar's ancient power has made this haven so bountiful. She would not be surprised if that was the case.

When Edvard returns, he comes back carrying his own selections of fruit. Upon noticing Iza's hoard, his lips twitch just the slightest bit in what she thinks might be amusement. It is funny that they both have the same thoughts without speaking them – just how close have they grown in these few days?

Iza excuses herself to the waterfall. There she takes her time drinking until her throat is no longer parched, washing her face and her visible skin until she no longer feels gritty, and resting her feet in the cool water until they no longer ache. She closes her eyes and tries to _think_, but her mind is muddled, tired and overwrought. Tired. Too much information to wrap her head around. Too much she understands and too much she is still clueless about.

It is hard to digest the thought that no moment of her life had been unplanned – from the abandonment of her mother to being struck by Thor's lightning and everything in between.

It is even harder to believe that _Iza_ is a pawn of fate, someone who is apparently born to create a change that the Gods cannot create themselves.

What change could Iza possibly make? Writing the Eddas? Guiding the village? Bonding a dragon? _Saving_ the dragons from the – what had Dagmar called him – the Malice Striker? Saving the _village_ from the dragons? What change was Iza born to usher? Has she already made the change and is now living with the consequences? Does she still have a change to make?

She doubts anyone will give her a clear answer, even if she were to pray to Frigg and Odin themselves. Gods know the Norns would never deign to speak.

Unless – well, Iza is not as mortal as she always assumed. Whoever her mother is means that there is blood in her veins that is half of something _else_. And maybe Halflings can have prayers answered successfully by the Gods. Even Loki is willing to speak with Iza, and regardless of how meddlesome he is, would that not mean that other Gods could be communed with?

Should Iza even _try_?

She sighs, long and drawn out, her neck dropping back between her shoulders. Thinking about any of this is useless at the moment – she is too tired to have any clear thoughts. Iza moves to stand, stepping out of the chilled water with her leather boots in her grasp. She turns, casting a cursory glance over the wide cavern in search for her dragon.

Eko has found a place in the clutch of several dragons, many of them larger and brighter-scaled but each of them seemingly intrigued by Eko. Iza tentatively reaches across their bond, silently asking after Eko's health and comfort, and Eko is quick to answer, reassuring and quietly gleeful to be around so many of her own kind. Iza has the sense that Eko is learning much about herself, not just her own abilities but also her place among other dragons. If Dagmar is any indication, then Eko's breed is something rather special among dragons. Dagmar is herself a queen – does that mean that Eko is a princess?

Iza wonders at how dragons govern themselves. There is certainly a hierarchy both in the cavern and in the greater mountain that indicates some sort of system of power – Dagmar and the Malice Striker on top, with smaller, younger, weaker dragons on bottom. Is power the only thing that dragons care to class themselves by? What would that mean for Eko in the future?

Iza again has more questions than answers – and these questions are not likely to ever be known by a human, not even a half-human like Iza. The ways of dragons are known only by dragons, bonded to humans or not.

Satisfied that Eko is looking after herself, Iza pulls away from their bond and drags herself back to where Edvard is waiting.

In the time that she had been gone, he has taken measures for his comfort, removing his leather braces and his boots. His tunic is untucked from his leather trousers, the fabric falling loosely around his broad frame as he bites into fruits. By Iza's count and judging by the fruit pits gathered in front of him, Edvard has eaten nearly a dozen fruits.

Iza frowns to herself. Edvard catches the expression, peering up at her with vibrant green eyes and a mouth slick with juice. "What is it?" he asks, swallowing hastily and licking at his lip.

Iza stares at him, heat rising on her neck that she does her best to ignore, and speaks quietly. "Are you very hungry? Should I gather more fruits?"

Realization crosses his face. "Ah. I am gorging," he admits, palming another round fruit, perhaps a peach. "We have not eaten well – and magic is consuming."

Iza nods. Her own hunger is muted by the water she had just drank, but even before that the hunger had been removed from her attention. Anxiety and stress had stolen her appetite and continues to do so, but she knows she must eat.

As Dagmar said, Iza is going to need her strength. For what, she does not know. But it is always wise to eat when food is available, so she settles herself down on soft moss not too far from Edvard and takes to filling her belly. She manages three fruits before anymore would make her sick, and when she is done, Edvard is quick to gather the pits together into a small pile. Iza watches with interest as he gathers a few palm-sized rocks into a circle and breaks branches from a nearby bush, creating a bonfire with the fruit pits that he lights with a flicker of green magic.

When the fire is lit, Edvard glances up at her, as if checking for her reaction. Iza keeps her expression placid. She has no room to judge, after all. Neither of them are exactly normal.

Edvard's glance turns lingering after a few moments, his eyes trailing over her with some emotion that she cannot place. The look is intense, the silence even more so, and Iza is quick to turn away for the second time that night. "We should sleep," she finds herself saying again.

They bed down near enough to the fire that they can feel its warmth, but far enough that the flickering flames are not going to burn them as they sleep. There are several feet of space between them, but to Iza even that feels too close. She watches as Edvard lays flat on his back, arm bent behind his head, the firelight sending coppery hair and his handsome features into sharp relief, and feels her pulse quicken.

Her heart is strange these days, she thinks, even as her chest flutters. Iza bites her lip, fighting against the urge to say _something_ – anything to engage Edvard, who does not seem as aloof as he once was. A small, carefully guarded part of Iza is clamoring for his attention, rightly recognizing the opportunity sitting before her. Tomorrow they return to village, and when that happens there is no guarantee that she will be so close to him again. She should say something now, even just to hear his voice. He so seldom speaks and the rich timbre is soothing to listen to, something that could ease her into sleep, a thought which her exhausted mind views as quite sound but at which her waking mind would balk.

But Iza is only of one mind right now, the day catching up to her. She wants to hear Edvard's voice. She wants to look at him. She wants to feel his stabilizing touch on her waist once again, even for a moment.

She just needs to say _something._

"Does your head hurt?"

Iza's voice breaks through the quiet, soft and rounded. She almost does not recognize it as her own, but she felt her lips move and knows she has spoken. She waits, breath baited, as Edvard turns to look at her, eyes glowing green in firelight.

His brow is furrowed. "My head?"

"Loki did drop you rather gracelessly at my feet," Iza points out wryly.

Edvard scowls, an open expression of displeasure at the reminder. "My head is fine," he says curtly. "I have had worse injuries."

That much is very true, Iza knows. As one of the best warriors and hunters in the village, Edvard has seen his fair share of wounds and he likely has the scars to show for it. She vividly recalls that winter Edvard found her hidden in the hollowed tree, when she was a child and he barely a teen and he cut his arm so deeply helping her from the frozen wood and ice. On hot summer days when tunics are thin and skin is free, Iza can sometimes see the long curving scar sitting in a flat silver line on his tanning skin. And she can recall many other times when she had seen Edvard's blood with her own eyes – yes, she is sure he has had worse injuries.

Still, being dropped on one's head is not an average injury. But when she says as much, Edvard merely rolls his eyes. "It is not the first time Loki has done so and I doubt it will be the last."

Iza, for all that she is challenged by her own parentage, is baffled by the notion. She stays her tongue, though, accurately sensing that Loki is the last subject Edvard wants to speak about. Not that she blames him – the trickster is bewildering at best and beyond irritating at worse, even when he seems to be helping in his own way.

Silence falls between them, but the sounds of dragons chattering to each other is still in the air. The sound is almost soothing, like dangerous birdsong. Perhaps not as good as listening to Edvard's voice, but nearly.

"That dragon, the large white one," Edvard begins after a moment. "It knew you."

Iza hums. "Yes. She knows you, too. Dagmar is her name. She called you Lokison," she says, watching as Edvard scowls again. Trying for comfort, Iza is quick to add, "She calls me Changemaker."

"Changemaker?" Edvard asks, pinning her with an intensely inquisitive look.

Iza hums again. She has no idea how he seems to have enough energy to be so curious, while Iza is already fighting the pull of sleep. "You are not the only Halfling in the village," she reminds him. "My mother is _someone_ and she bore me to make a change. I just do not know what change I am destined to make."

"You make changes every day," Edvard tells her with a quietly unshakeable sort of confidence.

Iza's eyes snap upward in surprise. Her shock must be naked on her face, because Edvard turns on his side to see her better, resting his head on his elbow as he speaks.

"Each day in the village you make a change," he says. "Your very presence is enough to shake the world. You are different from everyone I have ever known. It is almost as if you have no limits – as soon as you set your mind to it, a change happens. I see it every day."

Iza is silent. Her heart thuds in her chest, a loud roaring in her ears as blood rushes to her face.

Edvard's lip quirks to the side. "Surely you knew? For all that Alise speaks of the future, it is _you_ who eyes turn to when it is time to make a decisive choice. Not even the Chieftain holds so much sway."

"The Elders…" Iza tries to disagree.

Edvard snorts. "The Elders are idiots. Forget about them – it is our peers, our generation and the generation after ours, that look up to you." His expression softens. "How could you not know….?"

"I am not that significant," she says softly.

"I disagree," he says, barely audible. "If anyone would earn the name of Changemaker, it would be you…For what it is worth, yours are the only changes I would follow without question."

Iza stills, frozen by Edvard's bold statements. His words, while flattering and truthful, feel like something _more_ – like something heavier than just an admission of praise. Something that makes Iza feel warm all over, something that makes her feel compelled to speak again.

"…And for what it is worth, yours is the only sword I would trust at my back."

Edvard's intense expression grows. "I will always protect you, Izabela. This is my oath to you."

"I trust you," she whispers. "I always trust you."

And after that, there is no more to say. They fall asleep facing each other, the heat of the fire warm on their skin, and the sound of chattering dragons comforting to their ears.

Iza's sleep is deep and dreamless, heavy like she is being weighed down by rocks. She is the first to wake up in the morning, her eyes falling on Edvard's face, his features slackened in sleep. For the first time, she feels comfortable in just looking at him – as if she is not about to be caught doing something forbidden. There had been a fundamental shift between them last night, something that she cannot quite name but something which is significant all the same.

Iza gazes at Edvard as he sleeps, taking note of how long his dark lashes fall against his cheeks and the smattering of coppery freckles dusted across his cheeks and how plush his lower lip is compared to the top. She follows the broad line of his shoulders, the rounded muscles of his biceps, the tensile strength in his forearms, the shape and breadth of his palms, the long stretch of his fingers. He is strong all over, she knows, his frame lithe but sturdy. And when compared to her own slight stature, she can only remember how solemnly he had promised to protect her last night – and how she had zero doubts to the truth of his words.

_He is a beautiful man_, she thinks to herself. A perfect specimen and an ideal warrior. She can find stark traces of Loki in his features, present in the arch of Edvard's thick brows and the angle of his jawline and in the vibrant color of his green eyes. But the rest of him is unique, utterly like anyone she has ever seen – and with a mind unlike any she has ever witnessed, a fortress of certitude hidden behind that aloof expression.

Iza looks at Edvard and she thinks _strong_. A stoic man possessing all kinds of strength – body and mind and magic. And for the first time, her quiet infatuation with him does not seem so girlish. Now, her admiration is matured.

Iza can look at Edvard now and think _future. _

If he liked her, she could be his wife and he could be her husband.

_Does he like me_? She wonders. Perhaps, but perhaps not. She will not make the mistake of thinking that a man vowing to protect her is anything more than a warrior's oath, not when there are prettier and more demure girls in the village constantly clamoring to appeal to the man who will likely be the next Chieftain. Edvard's protection and her trust in it is to get them through this ordeal with the dragons. It is not a promise of anything else.

But _oh_, how she wishes it were something more.

Ever practical, Iza buries the hope deep down and turns her mind to problems that she _can_ solve.

By the time Edvard wakes up, Iza has already gathered herself, filled her waterskein, eaten her fruits, and bid Dagmar a respectful farewell. Upon realizing that their time for rest is over, Edvard hastens to ready himself, quick and surefooted as he rights his clothing.

Meanwhile, Iza calls to Eko through their bond, bidding her to gather any dragons willing to travel with them. Eko makes a silent affirmation and indicates that she and the dragons are already waiting at the entrance of the cavern.

"Are you ready?" Iza asks after Edvard stomps out the fire he'd made.

He nods, solemn and silent, his eyes watching her carefully – searching for something, she thinks, though she does not know what he searches for and she does not know if he finds it. When she moves, he is quick to follow, a looming presence at her back that is swiftly growing familiar. Iza trusts in it, but she vows not to forget that his protection is just that – protection, nothing more.

Mind steady on her goals, Iza leads Edvard to the entrance of the cavern. Her chest eases when she can lay eyes on Eko's bright two-toned eyes, her frills alert and her black scales glossy. Eko's mind is just as clear as Iza's, a shared sense of duty thrumming along their bond.

Three dragons are behind Eko, standing calmly with a certain ease that makes Iza think these dragons are older, more experienced, more confident. Eko is likely the youngest dragon on the mountain, the last born, but these dragons follow after Eko with a certain obedience that makes Iza think twice.

The dragons that follow Eko are ones Iza recognizes as being the dragons who Eko had been interacting with all night. Their sizes and shapes differ quite a bit, but they all look formidable and confident. Yet they follow a young dragon who is bonded to a human as if it is the most natural thing.

Iza remembers what she had thought the night before, that if Dagmar is a queen then Eko is a princess, and she thinks it might be true.

Perhaps even as true as a Changemaker and a Lokison taking dragons back to a dragon-hating village.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter is also known as the one that kept going and going and going. Not that you guys are going to be complaining about it, considering how long its been since I updated! Real life is giving me whiplash - but I finally got this chapter out and I know the direction for the final parts of the story. I would estimate less than ten chapters left, maybe. But you guys know I'm also shit at estimation, so. **

**No Norse things for this chapter, I don't think. Well, no _obvious_ Norse things that I need to explain right away. If you're at all familiar with Norse Mythology, then a dragon called Malice Striker is probably going to ring a few bells, but he will be fully explained...later. More importantly, aren't we glad that Iza and Edvard are dancing around each other now? Nothing like life-altering events to make people get together!**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	25. twenty five

**Twenty Five**

Edvard wants a sword. A knife. Any weapon, truly. It is not an understatement to say that Edvard feels the most himself when he has a weapon in hand – there is something visceral about the confidence and the comfort of knowing he is strong enough to subdue anyone who would challenge him. And although he is reasonably sure that he could manage well enough fighting with only his fists, in the face of _dragons_ he loses some of that certainty.

Especially when that blue ice-breathing dragon slinks up behind them as they exit the cave in the mid-morning and Edvard does not realize it until the dragon has already surpassed them. He glances at the ice-tipped talons on the dragon's feet and wonders how the dragon could move so silently when those claws _should_ drag noisily across stone.

_Dragons_, he internally despairs. _Iza may like them, but I do not. Too unpredictable_.

Warily, he watches as the blue dragon – Kaldr is what Iza had called him before – bows its great spiked head and chatters at the other dragons. His eyes turn to Iza, as they inevitably do, and he studies the look of realization that crosses her pretty, fine-boned features.

Not for the first time, he worries that she is too young for the responsibility that is on her shoulders. Running the village. Outsmarting with the Elders. Raising a dragon. And now, it would seem, leading dragons into a battle with the weight of _destiny_ to bear in mind.

She is only a few summers younger than he is, he knows. Maybe five or less. But her maturity, her steadfastness, is far greater than her age. She said that the blind dragon, Dagmar, called her Changemaker – and Edvard can believe it, he truly can, because this slip of a girl makes a change just by breathing.

She makes a change in _him_ by just being Iza.

And he wants to win her, but he knows she is not a thing to be won. Protected, yes. Desired, naturally. But won? No, she is her own person and he would not want to take that away – but he could perhaps stand at her side, an equal, someone who she has won back.

Years ago, even months ago, the very notion that Iza could maybe return his interest had been far-fetched. Knowing that he is favored by the Chieftain and knowing that the Chieftain would want to make a sensible match between Edvard and Iza had made Edvard hesitant in the past – he had not wanted to force her hand and so he had kept his distance to provide her with choices her father might take away.

Now the notion is not so unbelievable. Not after these few days where he has been able to be so close to her. Not after the night before when he had been able to watch the fire dance along her milk-pale skin as she fell into sleep, somehow so innocent and unbearably appealing that he had been hard-pressed to keep his hands to himself. Not after he had seen the way _she_ looked at _him_, the way her eyes followed after his hands and dipped to his mouth and gazed deep into his eyes, down to his very soul it felt like.

_Now_ it does not seem unfathomable that she would return his interest. _Now_ it does not seem like his pursuit of her would be backing her into a corner. _Now_ it does not seem like a kiss from him would be met with a slap in the face.

The only thing to do is balance the scales between them. Edvard knows there are things about Iza that he cannot hope to match – her intellect for one, and her connection with dragons for another. But she did accept his protection, practically declared that she _only_ trusted him, in fact. He will simply have to match her in other ways, or at least out pace her in some places so that they can have a partnership. He more than anything wants there to be equality between them, and if that means he has to stand back and watch her commune with ancient creatures then that is what he will do. It is not as if he is too dumb to fill in the blanks of a one-sided conversation, after all. And Iza is keen to share most things, so he is not unduly concerned.

It helps, of course, that she had accepted that he is Lokison and that he has seidr stronger than any in the village, even if he is a man. It also helps that she now willing passes him the bow and quiver that had been gifted by Loki, trusting that his own skills with an arrow would be more useful than her own.

"Kaldr is coming with us," Iza tells him, watching as he straps the quiver around his hips.

Edvard tests the string of the bow, feeling the low hum of magic in the wood. It is a powerful weapon, one that he is almost surprised Loki would craft and give away. Naturally, his father would not do this without some reason – and Loki always knows more than he lets on. The fact that Loki gifted such a powerful bow to Iza means something that Edvard cannot quite grasp. But it is impressive all the same.

"Is there any particular reason this Kaldr insists on joining us?" he wonders as he secures the bow to his back.

Iza's two-toned eyes trail to the dragons around them, now five in total. "Eko says that he is restless in the cavern. I think he wants to fight and is jumping at the first chance to do so," she says, the corner of her mouth tipping upward.

"Kaldr is bored," Edvard surmises. He casts a speculative look at the blue dragon, who meets his gaze head-on with eyes as icy as the frozen fjords in the winter. Eyes as icy as those he knows all too well. "That reminds me of someone."

Iza smiles wryly. "If she wants, I think Różyczka would be a good match for Kaldr. They seem to have the same type of spirit."

Edvard can only agree. Różyczka and Kaldr do seem to have similar personalities, not to mention similarly chilling gazes. It seems only fitting that the girl who nearly demanded a dragon from Iza would be paired with the dragon that insisted to join the fight.

"And the other dragons?"

Iza lifts her shoulders in a delicate shrug, the tip of one scar just visible at the top of her collarbone. "I do not know yet. Some dragons have not spoken to me through Eko, yet. I have their names and what they can do, but I do not think they trust me yet. I think that even for them it has been some time since a dragon last bonded to a human," she muses, folding her arms over her chest, a wisp of dark hair falling across her face.

Edvard curls his fingers into a fist so that he does not tuck the stray hairs back behind her ear. Maybe one day, but not yet. Instead, he moves to follow behind the dragons, who have slunk into a neat formation to hug the sides of the mountain as they carefully, quietly traverse back down. In some ways, it is easier descending the mountain than climbing it – but Edvard is wary, the last battle with dragons still sharp in his mind especially knowing that the unfriendly dragons and their ringleader, the Malice Striker, are so near. He makes sure to guard Iza's back, placing himself between her and the cliff sides, always ready to catch her should she slip on the steep path.

It takes them some time to get to the base of the mountain. Between two humans and five dragons, three of which are twice the size of Eko, they reach the base of the mountain well after mid-day, right around the time the sun begins to dip low in the sky. Edvard clicks his tongue as they enter the forest, his face falling into a thoughtful scowl.

"What is it?" Iza asks him, hushed in the growing shadows of the forest.

"We will need to find camp for the night," he says.

"I thought as much. It did take me two days to reach the mountain, even before Loki dropped you before me," she reminds him.

And Edvard knows that the mountain is further from the village than it first appears, but part of him is still anxious to get Iza as far away from the mountain as quickly as possible. He would propose riding the dragons back if he thought it a feasible plan – he doubts any dragon who will not speak with Iza will be eager to let him on their back. Camping is the only option. Maybe if they have an early start in the morning…

_Anything to resist temptation_, Edvard thinks as Iza walks ahead of him, her small waist and the flare of her hips igniting something in the pit of his stomach. He sends a prayer to Odin for his self-control at the prospect of bedding down beside Iza _again_ – and perhaps even a third time if they do not reach the village tomorrow.

_By Odin's wisdom, I cannot do anything to scare her away_.

"We should find fresh water," Edvard says gruffly, quickly reaching Iza's side with his longer stride.

"The river is this way I think…" Iza trails off, cocking her head to the side as her eyes dart between Eko and Kaldr, who is staring off in the other direction. "Ah. Kaldr will lead us to water. He can sense it much quicker than we can find it."

And so they follow after Kaldr, who moves more clumsily in the forest than on the mountain. The same can be said for every dragon except Eko, although that is perhaps because Eko has spent so much time around trees. The other dragons seem unfamiliar with having to move around thick trunks and low-hanging branches as such things are not found on the craggy mountain passes.

As they walk, he and Iza work together to gather anything edible they can. Edvard is a keen hunter and manages to easily catch a few pheasants and rabbits with the bows, providing them with enough meat to help line the stomachs of their growing party. By the time Kaldr locates the river that will lead them back to the village, night has already fallen. He and Iza work quickly to find kindling for a fire, which luckily the large dark orange dragon is quick to light.

Edvard and Iza share quiet conversation while the meat is cooking, trading pieces of fruit back and forth after washing their hands and faces in the cool river. The dragons curl along the forest floor, eyes open and watchful, but still resting with Eko at their center as they chatter to themselves. Both humans and dragons eat fast once the meat is cooked through, tiredness pulling at limbs and eyes now that they day is over.

Lying beside Iza for the second night in a row, near enough to touch but not touching, Edvard feels a sense of peace. He listens to her soft voice as she relays some of what the dragons are talking about, a conversation that reminds him of the bickering some children in the village.

At one point, Iza makes a startled sound and Edvard's attention snaps to her with an intensity that must be surprising, because she is quick to wave him away. "No, no – everything is fine. It is just…well, two of these dragons are mated. I had not considered it before, or even noticed…"

"Mated?" Edvard wonders, sliding his gaze to the dragons, none of which seem particularly close. He frowns. "Which ones?"

Iza hums, moving to rest her weight on one shoulder to get a better view. Edvard mimics her posture. "The dragon who lit the fire, the one with deep orange scales, is called Dyngju. His mate is Leiptr, the dragon with the grey scales and violet eyes, who can breathe lightning."

"Fire and lightning? They look to be different breeds."

"I think they are," Iza confirms. "But I also think that dragons do not care about that sort of thing. I am not sure how dragons pick a mate, but it gives me some hope for Eko."

Edvard furrows his brow, turning to look at the gentle slope of Iza's profile. "What do you mean?"

Iza's gaze trails to him, one amber eye and one blue eye looking up at him through long, dark lashes. "I worry for her. Eko is so unique that I fear she might be lonely. It…it is a fear I know well, the feeling that one is too strange to match to anyone."

Truly, if he is honest, Edvard has never had that fear. Not for himself and not for Iza. But he can imagine why she would feel that way – for her dragon and for herself. Being too different can alienate others, and Edvard has long recognized that both Iza and Alise are far too different to connect well with their peers. It is lucky that they have found friendship in each other, especially Alise, who frightens people more than she intimidates them.

And certainly in a romantic sense, Iza would never be lonely. Edvard would see to that.

But he cannot seem to voice that directly, his words failing him. So he winds up saying, "No one is too strange to find a match."

The way Iza looks at him, the firelight making her eyes brighter, he thinks she understands what he is not yet brave enough to say.

_You are not too strange to find a match – because you have found a match in me_.

Edvard observes with a certain satisfaction as Iza's cheeks bloom pink, that feeling of peace settling over him again as he watches her ease into slumber, her body curled toward his and her head just shy of his shoulder.

And when he wakes up to find Iza's hand resting over his chest, he knows that at least subconsciously she understood his meaning. He revels in her touch and her trust and turns it into strength to carry him through the day.

Settled as they are in this tacit understanding, he turns the full force of his focus toward the mission at hand –

Helping the Changemaker reach her destiny.

* * *

**A/N: Look at that, Edvard finally got a long chapter! Hopefully he moved some character development and the plot along!**

**Norse things in the chapter - praying to Odin. Old Norse Occult saw Odin as the Allfather, but he was also the God they prayed to for wisdom or guidance. Sometimes, it was considered a good omen to see a raven after praying to Odin since ravens were basically his familiars or the animals most closely associated with him. Will Edvard see a raven? Who knows. Maybe he should be praying for something other than controlling his lust and then Odin would answer him, huh?**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	26. twenty six

**Twenty Six**

They return to the village in early morning light, five dragons and two wary humans trudging from the depths of the forest as the first pink and gold rays of sunlight break through the clouds. Iza stands still at the top of a hill that overlooks the village, her eyes catching on the plumes of smoke rising from the longhouses, and feels a sense of displacement.

It feels as if she has been gone for too long – only a handful of days, but each of those days felt like years. She wonders if this is what the Viking raiders feel like when they return home. Do they also feel that they are returning to a place that now feels foreign?

Iza watches the way Edvard moves forward, plunging headfirst without any hesitation, and thinks that maybe she is the only one who feels this way. Unsure, almost stifled by the prospect of the village. It is home, but it does not have the freedom of the forest and the mountain.

Home is home, but in her heart it has never felt like _hers_. In a way, it is naturally her home because she was born there and she has grown there. But in another way, it is not home because she has so long been on the fringes – one way or another never fully accepted, always just that smidge too _different_ from the others.

A difference that is now even more apparent because of the dragons and the knowledge that she is not fully mortal.

Iza does her best to shake off the pensive feeling and forces her feet to move forward. One step at a time is all it ever takes to make progress. Sense of displacement or not, Iza knows her duty very well. Or at least she thinks she does. If nothing else, she understands what her goal is – that has never been in doubt.

By the time they reach the village proper, most of the village has risen with the early sun of the summer, which inevitably means that more eyes fall on the dragons than Iza had anticipated. She had dimly hoped for some way to slowly introduce the dragons, but there is really no way to do so. Dragons, after all, are very difficult to _not_ notice, and _five_ dragons is sure to turn heads no matter where she takes them.

Iza catches the pale faces and wide eyes lurching backward as she, Edvard, and the dragons walk through the village and she suppresses a sigh. Time away had not changed many minds. She did not think it ever would.

They halt in front of the Great Hall and the rest of the village gathers in a loose circle, anxious and watching warily as the leaders in the village come face-to-face with creatures that have been the bane of their survival for the last several years. Iza stares steadily at the Elders, Eko at one elbow and Edvard at the other.

"These dragons have agreed to form an alliance," she announces, her voice calm and loud so that it carries. "We share a common enemy."

"There is no such thing as a common enemy between dragons and humans!" one of the Elders claims angrily. Iza knows this Elder well, as she is used to arguing with him in polite tones any time she is working with Mik in the Great Hall. He is an old man who does not easily recognize his own hypocrisy and who more often than not dissents out of fear and hesitancy toward change. She had anticipated his refusal, and as such barely spares him a glance.

It is the other Elders she looks to instead. "There is a tyrant on the mountain, a dragon that has taken over and spread malice through the dragons under his control. Unlike what we have been led to believe, there are dragons who are free from the Malice Striker – and these dragons I have brought with me are but a few who are willing to work with us against a foe."

"Because we share a common enemy?" one of the more rational Elders asks with a skeptical lift of his brow. "How common an enemy can two vastly different beings have? We are humans and they are dragons. Are they not able to solve their own problems?"

"Yes!" agrees another from where he cowers slightly in the back of the small group. "If what you say is true and the ransacking of our lives is the cause of internal dissent among _dragons_, then why can _these_ free dragons not fight against this-this _Striker_ themselves?"

Iza lifts her chin. "Are there any among us who can truly accomplish anything by ourselves?" she asks, directing her question smartly toward the crowd rather than the Elders. Her gamble is right and her rhetorical point is met with mild grumbling agreements from the villagers. Iza pins the head Elder with her fiercest stare. "The internal politicking of dragons aside, we now have a solution that will help us free ourselves of living in fear from yet another dragon battle. Too long we have been struggling to maintain our way of living while constantly struggling to recover from loss of grain and houses and livestock – from loss of _lives_. Why should we not form an alliance when an alliance is what we need to finally end our strife?"

The head Elder stares back and Iza can almost see her mind working. The head Elder has always been a shrewd old crone, a woman who had survived the birth of four children, outlived her husband, and made rational decisions for the betterment of everyone. In many ways, Iza strives to be like the head Elder, who always listens calmly and makes impartial decisions.

The head Elder's lips press together, her slightly cloudy eyes roving over the dragons loosely lined behind Iza's back until her beady stare finally rests on Eko. The head Elder makes a thoughtful noise. "Tell me more about this fearsome foe, this…Malice Striker. Tell me what you have learned so that I might understand your conviction. Tell me why you think _these_ dragons are any different than the dragons that terrorize us."

And so Iza does. She speaks at length about most of what she has learned on the mountain, leaving out the parts about her destiny and parentage. Iza does her best to relay all the details, and eventually Edvard pitches his own thoughts in to emphasize the breadth of the threat they are facing. From Edvard's mouth, Iza's claims seem to carry more weight – and she understand it is because the village has already spent several years placing a lot of trust in Edvard's reliable ability to provide them with food. The village at large has more faith in Edvard's confirmation than Iza's original claims, and while that irritates her, she also knows it is because for all that she does for the village and for all that she is the Chieftain's daughter, she is still that little bit too different.

Edvard might be different, as well, but he seems to have found a way to be on the _right side_ of different.

If only the village knew he was Lokison. Would they then change their minds? Perhaps. But perhaps not. And either way it does not matter to Iza – all she cares about is that the Elders and the villagers grasp what she is trying to tell them. If they can only understand through Edvard, then so be it.

The Elders turn toward each other, speaking quietly amongst themselves. Behind Iza, the dragons are growing restless, the apparent novelty of a human village wearing out quickly due to the tension in the air and the heavy fear-laden stares resting on their scales.

_Calm them,_ Iza says to Eko through their bond. _It is almost over_.

Iza feels Eko's agreement before a soft chittering escapes the dragon's mouth. The other dragons settle afterwards, so whatever Eko had told them must have been enough. Iza knows that their restlessness had not come from a lack of understanding, as all the dragons she has ever encountered have understood the human tongue well even without the ability to speak back. No, Iza thinks that their restlessness stemmed from the uncertainty of the situation – after all, the dragons have a lot of hope riding on this alliance, as well. Maybe even more than the humans in this village.

It is a very human emotion to be anxious because of uncertainty, and the fact that these dragons are clearly emoting this says a lot about the similarities between humans and dragons. Regardless of what the obstinate Elder had said before, Iza thinks that humans and dragons have a lot more in common than one shared enemy.

But even so, just for now, Iza _needs_ the dragons to appear as docile as Eko. There cannot be a single reason for the village to reject the alliance.

Yet even as she thinks this, she comes to the private realization that _if_ the village did boot the dragons out, at the very least _Iza_ would commit herself to the alliance. She will do whatever it takes, help from her village or not. Ideal plans are just that – ideal. It does not mean that they are the _only_ plans. And so as she waits for the decision from the Elders, part of Iza's mind begins making contingency plans.

Yet it turns out that her contingencies will not be needed.

"We will form an alliance," the head Elder announces, her eyes sharp on Iza as she continues. "An ally is more useful than a second foe. But let me remind you, young Iza, that these dragons are _your_ responsibility. Keep them out of the main village. And if they should turn on us – on your head so be it, daughter of the Chieftain or not."

Iza bows her head in agreement, as she had expected nothing less and had known exactly what she was gambling when she set out on her self-imposed mission. But the threat of having her place in the world removed is not much to someone who has never felt their place in the world was all that solid to begin with.

Turning on her heel, Iza clucks her tongue once and backtracks out of the village, coolly meeting the eye of any villager brave enough to look at her even as they hastily spring out of her path. The dragons follow and behind her the village murmurs amongst themselves. And at her side is Edvard, who holds his tongue until they have begun to trek up the hill where her longhouse stands.

"That was lucky," he says.

"Luck had nothing to do with it," Iza tells him. "They agreed because it makes sense, but also because if I fail then I will have no standing in the village and they will not have to deal with me directing their council."

Edvard frowns at her, brows furrowed in thought. "Do you really think that?"

Iza smiles wryly. "The Elders are much less mysterious and wise than we think they are. It is not difficult to know they resent my involvement. I do not let them run roughshod over Mik when my father is away, after all."

"The Elders are idiots."

"Of course they are," Iza agrees. "Most of them are biased and stuck in their ways. But some of them are not, so I must be as crafty as them."

Edvard grimaces. "Is that what it is like to be Chieftain, I wonder?"

Iza hums. "Perhaps it is similar. But I do not think the Elders would be so bold with the Chieftain. As the leader of the clan, my father has much more influence over the whole village than I do – and in fact, so do you for that matter. Did you not notice that the village begin to come around when you voiced your opinion?"

Edvard appears mildly surprised. "Did they?"

"Yes. And while the Elders may be foolish, they also know how troublesome it would be to go against the _entire _village. Truly, I should thank you," she ways with some amusement. "If you had not spoken, I would probably be run out of the village, dragons and all."

"I do not think that is true," he says, but even to Iza's ears he sounds doubtful.

Iza lets the subject drop, shifting her attention to the dragons behind her. She reaches the top of her hill and turns to the dragons with her hands on her hips. "This is my home and this is where you will stay while we are in alliance. You _must_ stay out of the village at all times. The villagers are…cautious of dragons, so it is better to remain on this hill or in the forest."

She waits for Eko to relay a confirmation that the dragons understand before she lets her arms drop to her sides. Iza sighs out, releasing some of the pent up tension in her shoulders, and drops her head back. "Great. Thank you."

_You are tired_, Eko observes with a note of concern.

Iza smiles gently at her dragon, reaching out to run her palm up Eko's muzzle and between her eyes. "I am tired," she agrees. Glancing up at Edvard, she says, "I am home now and I think everything is under control. You can…"

"Ah. Right." Edvard clears his throat. "I should return home for rest. I will…That is, I will come by later during the evening meal so that we can begin planning."

Iza nods and Edvard turns to leave, but she is quick to call out to him. "My bow!"

The tips of Edvard's ears flush red as he lopes back and quickly divests himself of her bow and quiver. He hands them back and then hastens back down the hill, surely off to return to his family's farm for the night.

Iza is left alone with five dragons then, all who are looking at her for some direction, unsure of how to behave outside of their cavern in the mountain. She clutches her bow to her chest, equally as unsure. Eko is at a size where it is becoming difficult to keep her in the longhouse – and Iza is not sure if she can accommodate four other dragons, three of which are much larger than Eko. For the first time, Iza falters. She had not thought this far ahead.

Luckily, it is at that moment that Carlisle emerges from the longhouse. He gapes at the dragons for a moment, blue eyes wide and mouth dropped open, before he blinks rapidly at Iza. "You have more dragons," he says to her.

"And no place for them to sleep," Iza sighs.

The Saxon's expression changes into one she recognizes. It is the same expression that crosses his face when he is thinking hard and trying to translate his own words. Not for the first time, Iza is glad that the Saxon is her slave – perhaps Alise had the foresight to know that Iza would need someone more intelligent than herself to at some point and that is why she guided Iza to Carlisle. She certainly thinks this is true when Carlisle snaps his fingers and says, "We make tents!"

Tents. Yes. Tents are the obvious solution. "Good idea," Iza says with relief. Her stomach chooses that moment to grumble loudly and she wrinkles her nose. "But before tents, I think we need to eat. Do you have any food prepared? I am starving."

Carlisle is quick to nod and usher her in. Before she takes any steps forward, Iza's eyes flick to Eko, their two-toned gazes meeting as easily as their minds.

_I will take them hunting,_ Eko says. _The forest is free this early in the day. I will keep watch over them. Do not worry._

_Be careful, Eko._

_Rest, Iza. All will be fine._

Iza can only trust that her dragon is right.

* * *

**A/N: Awkward warrior Vikings are hilarious and Carlisle is a gem. Also, that head Elder? Iza is basically looking at herself in the future, which I liked the symmetry of. Was anyone surprised that I made the head Elder a woman? Vikings were pretty feminist, all things considered, so it's not out of realm of possibility. **

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	27. twenty seven

**Twenty-Seven**

Iza does rest. Her day is filled with eating her fill of food, allowing Carlisle to check her over for any injuries to quell his anxious mind, and resting until the late afternoon. Carlisle has volunteered to create the tents for the dragons, so he has left the longhouse to allow Iza to sleep in peace. When she wakes up to the sound of a knock on her door, her limbs are heavy and sore from her travels. Still, she forces her body to move, expecting to open the door to Edvard and his ideas for their plan.

Instead, she opens the door to Alise and, interestingly, Różyczka. For her entire life, Iza has regarded Różyczka with a certain measure of wariness. There is no avoiding the fact that Róża is intimidating even if she is only a few years older than Iza – but she is also tall and strong and as ruthless as any Viking woman should be, and she has always excelled with seidr, which Iza spent her entire childhood envying. Overall, Iza and Róża do not interact more than necessary, especially now that they are older and no longer under the tutelage of Essme, the village's most talented seidr practitioner.

Seeing Róża at her door, even with Alise by her side, is enough to make Iza falter. But she is quick to gain her wits, recalling that Alise's brother Emebor and Róża are engaged to be married and that the elder blonde had accompanied her brother Jasper to request their own dragons not too long ago. Róża has every reason to be at Iza's door, all things considered.

"The tides are turning," Alise says by way of greeting.

Iza suppresses a yawn, shifting so that she is not relying on her door to hold up her body weight. "Is that so?"

Róża snorts. "You returned with _four_ dragons, Iza, and the village is not sure what to make of it. They seem pleasant enough, these dragons. We could see them through the trees on the walk here. You chose good ones by the looks of it."

"I had nothing to do with the choosing," Iza says tiredly. She cranes her neck, peering out toward where she can feel her bond to Eko tugging, but she cannot quite catch a glimpse of dragonscale. She looks back at Alise and Róża with a faint furrow to her brow. "These dragons volunteered."

"Five is a good number," Alise says nonsensically.

Meanwhile, Róża appears mildly surprised. "They volunteered?"

Iza shoots the elder girl a _look_, because what was she supposed to have done – drag _unwilling_ dragons back to the village with her or tricked the dragons into coming? But she bites her tongue and sighs. "Dragons are…complicated creatures," she mutters. "There are others that might help in battle, but they are leery of humans, I think. The ones that came are brave and young, maybe even foolish."

"Fools are not always fools," Alise says with a small smile. "Is it not true that Loki often plays the fool in your Eddas, yet he is not foolish at all, is he?"

Iza stares at Alise and wonders how much she knows about _Loki_. Probably more than Iza and Edvard combined.

What a frightening thought. Iza resolves not to ask unless absolutely necessary. By now, she is recognizing the wisdom in _not knowing_.

Another yawn threatens to pry Iza's jaw open and she barely bites it back. She moves to take a step back into her longhouse, saying, "Did you want to come inside? I think Carlisle left something near the hearth…"

"Actually, we came to invite you out," Róża declares briskly.

"A refreshing soak would be lovely to clear your head, would it not?" Alise asks, hefting a small basket that Iza only now notices as the one Alise carries on bathing day.

"You look like you could use one," Róża adds, not unkindly.

Recalling what her past few days have been like, Iza agrees that a bath _would_ be lovely. Even the Norns know she needs one at this point. Iza takes a moment to gather fresh clothing and calls out to Carlisle where she will be going as she passes him in the yard where he has made much progress erecting the tents for the dragons.

As Iza walks alongside the other girls, she calls out silently to Eko, trying to get a grip on how well the dragons are adjusting so far. Eko is in a cheerful mood, apparently having made friends with these dragons, which Iza takes as a sign that all is well. It is, at the very least, a good indication that these dragons are willing to play by human rules.

_We are going to the spring to bathe,_ Iza tells Eko. _Perhaps you can guide the dragons to be nearby? Kaldr especially might want to meet someone…_

A thread of amusement thrills through Eko, a sort of mature emotion that her dragon is emoting more often. In some ways, Eko now reminds Iza of the younger teens in the village – eager, full of energy, endlessly entertained. She wonders what that means for her dragon's development? Is Eko nearing fully grown? Judging by Dagmar, Eko still has a ways to go physically, but she is almost there.

Iza almost misses the tiny dragon she could cradle in her arms.

They reach the spring in the late afternoon and the water is a soothing contradiction to the heat still in the air. Róża is more brazen than Alise or Iza, willing to strip from her clothes efficiently and not the least bit shy about taking her time entering the water. By contrast, both Alise and Iza are rather bashful, especially when Róża's eyes catch incredulously on the scars marring Iza's chest. Thankfuly, Róża says nothing about the scars or their origin, and Iza goes about ignoring them as much as she usually does.

It is not until the floral soaps have been passed around that Alise decides to speak. "Your secret is not so secret any more, is it?"

"An understatement," Róża mutters.

Iza scrubs at her skin, looking at Alise with a frown. "You seem strange today. What are you not saying?"

Alise hums, sitting back into the water with her inky hair swirling around her. "I wonder, have you given any thought to what the Chieftain will do when he returns?"

Iza swallows. "Not much," she admits. And it is true, because dealing with her father is not something she is looking forward to. But more than the dragons and having a Saxon in their home, Iza has other matters to discuss with her father – the identity of her mother is something which has been pressing on her mind for _months_. "There are many things we must talk about."

Alise's eyes drift upward to the sky. "Do you remember when I asked if it was a betrayal to go against your father or to ignore the challenges the Norns give you?"

"Yes."

"Has your opinion changed?" Alise asks, still not looking away from the wide expanse of blue.

Iza spreads suds through her hair, glancing at Róża, who is watching the exchange with a blank exression. Iza presses her lips together, rinses the soap from her person, and sinks down into the water until her chin is almost covered. The last time Alise had asked this question, Iza had not been able to answer – and even in her own mind, she had not been able to come to an immediate decision.

But now, months later, the answer seems obvious.

"Yes," she answers. "My opinion has changed."

Because of course she should place the importance of the Norns and her own destiny over her father's outdated and uneducated thoughts. The Chieftain has been gone for weeks and weeks now, and much has changed since then. _Iza_ has changed.

"I do not think you should worry too much. You know you have been chosen and you know what you must do. Everything else will fall into place as it should." Alise pauses, and then a teasing smile tugs at her mouth. "And every_one_."

Róża perks up at this. "Oh? What is this? Who are we speaking about?"

"_Alise_," Iza hisses, her cheeks heating up.

Alise appears unbothered. "It is not as if either of you are oblivious anymore."

"_Oh_," Róża says with a tone of recognition. "Are we talking about Edvard and his hopelessly obvious crush?"

Iza blinks rapidly.

"Until recently it has not been obvious to everyone," Alise tells her.

Róża eyes Iza with a baffled expression. "You mean that you did not know? I think most of our peers know."

"I certainly knew."

Róża waves Alise away. "You are different. You know everything. I am talking about everyone_ else_ in our generation. I will have you know, Iza, that many of us have been perplexed by the way you two dance around each other."

Iza is mortified. To have _Róża_ saying this _now_ and in the same spirit as if they were close friends – well, she is much too exhausted by the last several days to do anything but sit dumbly and watch as Róża and Alise banter about which of them has been more oblivious. Alise thinks that her adoptive brother has been the most ignorant, but Róża is convinced that Iza should have been smart enough to notice the way Edvard has been "hovering around her since that one winter", which may be a fair opinion in retrospect.

Iza settles on being moderately pleased that, at the very least, all the indirect words Iza and Edvard have been speaking are not sudden things. For her, it is nice to know that none of this is coming out of the blue – it makes it feel more _real_.

But that does not mean she wants to be talking about it so _openly_.

Just when Iza feels like sinking into the water, perhaps to drown herself to escape the embarrassment, she hears a rustle in the nearby trees and finally catches sight of dragonscales.

It is Kaldr who emerges first, eyes locked on the water and his wings spreading wide, so sudden that he shocks both Alise and Róża into silence. The other dragons follow after Eko, who shoots Kaldr a narrow-eyed look that might have been a glare if she were human. Even without hearing her voice thread through their mental link, Iza can almost hear Eko grousing that _Kaldr got away from her_.

Iza is naturally the first to recovery, her familiarity with the dragons allowing her to sit upright in the water, her eyes roaming between the dragons. Her brief survey reveals nothing out of the ordinary except for the vaguely annoyed twitch of Eko's frills as her dragon side-eyes Kaldr.

Iza shifts her gaze around too, settling on Kaldr with a thoughtful expression. Whether because he does not care or does not notice, Kaldr is standing only a claws-breadth away from the water lapping at the banks of the spring only just near the edge of Róża's shoulder. And Róża for her part looks merely interested in the dragon, not at all bothered by how near the dragon is to her when she is at her most vulnerable. It is a stark contrast from Alise, who looks dimly intimidated by so many dragons crowding so close around the spring, though her slight discomfort is only apparent because of the tiny purse of her lips.

Eko slinks around the edge of the spring and comes to a crouch near Iza. Looking back at her dragon, Iza receives a quick summary of the past few hours, mainly Eko's contention that Kaldr is headstrong and _insisted_ on following water. Eko and the other dragons had only just convinced him that a spring is better than the fjords within view of the town, which Iza is grateful for.

_He is annoying_, Eko says decisively.

Iza laughs, surprising Róża and Alise. Biting her lip, Iza nods her chin to Kaldr, who has now moved to rest his chin in the water – to her credit, Róża only shifts to the side to give the dragon room, an assessing look in her eyes.

"Eko and Kaldr do not seem to get along," Iza tells the other girls.

"And the other dragons?" Alise asks.

Iza gives a shrug of her shoulders. "They are more mellow, I think," she says. "Old enough to be more mature than Eko and Kaldr, at least."

"This one is Kaldr?" Róża queries. When Iza nods, the older girl continues. "What kind of dragon is he?"

"Ice," Iza answers, taking note of Róża's intensely interested expression. She gathers her thoughts with a deep inhalation and says, "Actually…I had thought that maybe you and Kaldr would match well."

Róża looks startled at this, her brows shooting up on her forehead.

"You said you wanted to ride a dragon," Iza reminds her.

"I did," Róża agrees. "I am just surprised that you want to pair me with a dragon who does not get along well with yours. Is that wise?"

Iza plays with the slick length of her hair, twisting it to remove water. "It matters not if Eko and Kaldr are close because they know well enough to cooperate with each other, I think. More important is your ease with Kaldr. You have not flinched from him once," she points out.

"I do not scare so easily," Róża says coolly.

"Neither does he."

Róża turns a speculative eye to Kaldr, who only just appears to notice the human he has been so close to while he has been mesmerized by the water. Kaldr returns Róża's assessing look and Iza is gratified to note that the two truly do share a smiliar icy shade of blue in their eyes. "Will you let me ride you, I wonder?" Róża mutters to him.

Kaldr snorts out a puff of cold air directly in Róża's face and the girl is quick to retaliate with an irritated splash of water to his muzzle. Kaldr's teeth are bared for a second before he petulantly rests his chin back in the water, seemingly ignoring Róża's existence once more.

Róża stares at Kaldr for a few seconds more before turning a faintly amused look on Iza and Alise. "What do you think?"

"It seems to be an acceptance to me," Alise says.

Knowing what little she does of Kaldr, Iza is also inclined to agree. After all, Kaldr was not _aggressive_ with Róża and for her part, Róża did not seem too bothered by the dragon's attitude. Róża hums in agreement when Iza asks if she would be comfortable with Kaldr should the dragon allow her on his back.

Until they actually try, Iza will have to be satisfied by this tentative pairing. Róża wanted a dragon and Kaldr wanted to tag along – if it works, it will be a good match. Finding riders or partners for the other dragons might be more of a challenge, something which seems to be on the minds of the other's girls as well.

Drying off and dressing in front of the dragons, the girls settle not too far from the spring and share a loaf of bread Alise had the foresight to bring along. "What of the others?" Róża asks. She has a difficult time dragon her eyes away from observing Kaldr, but has asked cursory questions about the other dragons.

Iza reclines against Eko, who has moved to lounge in the warm sun gathering at Iza's back. Chewing thoughtfully, Iza turns Róża's question over in her mind, trading a few speculations with Eko about the dragons and those in the village who might be interested in riding dragons. Jaspar aside, Iza is not sure if there _is_ anyone else who wants to mount a dragon for the purpose of battle.

When she says as much, Róża raises her brow. "What of Jaspar, then? Which dragon would you pair for him?"

"I am not sure," Iza confesses. "Leiptr or Dyngju, perhaps."

Jaspar, after all, is just as direct as his sister, although maybe in a more palatable way. But the truth is that Iza does not know the personalities of the dragons or their potential riders well enough to know how pairings would work.

"You will need three riders," Alise says abruptly. Both Iza and Róża look at the glaze in Alise's eyes and understand that Alise is speaking with foreknowledge.

"Who?"

"The strong, the brash, and the quick," Alise answers.

Iza thinks this answer is perhaps less helpful than Alise thinks it is. She will have to give it some thought, assess who she knows well enough in the village to entrust with a dragon. Finding the right rider will be vital to the upcoming fight. She knows, from a political perspective, that the right rider will have a temperament and a standing within the village that will ultimately help sway minds.

Because it has been a thought simmering away in the back of her mind, but Iza knows that aside from her goal and bringing peace between the dragons and the village, she also wants to bring mutual acceptance – a sort of peace that will last for generations.

_You will, _Eko says confidently.

Iza hopes that her dragon is right.

Eventually, as the sun begins to dip further behind trees, they depart from the spring. By mutual agreement, plans are made with Róża for the following day so that she can bring Jaspar to meet the dragons and hopefully find one to ride. Alise seems reasonably confident that Jaspar will be successful when she and Róża depart from Iza near the outer edges of the forest.

Iza returns to her home with five dragons in tow, moderately grateful that the darkening hour gives them enough cover to avoid being seen by prying eyes. Not for the first time, she is glad that the Chieftain's longhouse is set further away from the village as it affords Iza some greatly-needed privacy.

By the time she and the dragons return to the longhouse, Carlisle has successfully created one large tent and is in the process of pinning the second down with the help of Edvard, who seems to have been waiting for Iza for some time. It throws her to see him for a moment, especially with the memory of Alise and Róża's teasing so fresh in her mind. She valiantly fights off a blush, tucks her loose clean hair behind her ear, and strides directly to the tents with the dragons on her heels.

The tents themselves are made of the kind of weathered hides that have seen dozens of winters, making them thin and threadbare but perfectly suitable to keeping rain off the back. Carlisle has managed to rig the tents into a high, flat, square-ish shape that will allow the dragons to move more or less freely. While not perfect, tents are better than sleeping fully outside – and this way, Iza and Eko can keep a close eye on their dragon guests.

"These look good," Iza comments as she walks up, pausing several feet away as Carlisle and Edvard finish setting the tent.

"I found hides in storage," Carlisle says proudly, dusting his hands off with an accomplished air. "Thin, but big. Good for dragons, yes?"

"Perfect," Iza assures him. She glances at Edvard, who is standing near the tents with his arms crossed over his chest. Carlisle must catch that her attention has strayed, because he is quick to excuse himself to finish preparing a stew. When the door of the longhouse has closed behind him, it leaves Edvard and Iza in relative privacy, the dragons notwithstanding.

Leaving Eko to deal with the dragons, Iza gestures for Edvard to follow her to the far side of the longhouse where it is easy to look over the village and the way the fjord opens to the ocean. The sight is a feast for the eyes, she thinks. The humble town and the setting sun glinting off the calm blue waves and the boats bobbing at the docks. It is all too easy to imagine the same sight alight with flames and destruction. Iza blinks rapidly to stop her mind from playing tricks on her.

That level of disaster has not happened yet. And it will _not_ happen as long as she stands.

"The dragons are settling well," Edvard says after a long moment.

"They seem to be," she agrees. "Kaldr and Róża met – and I think they will work well together. Jaspar requested a dragon, you know, and according to Alise there are still two riders that need to be found, although I have no idea who…"

"I see."

Iza sighs, suddenly tired. "Now that the dragons are here, I feel a little lost. What do I do next?"

"You move forward," Edvard tells her.

She looks up at him, struck by his resolute tone. "I move forward?"

Edvard looks down at her, his green eyes bright and sharp. "A plan is nothing more than a goal, and there is no reason for a plan to be complicated. When I hunt, I plan to catch what I can. When I fight, I plan to be as swift as possible. And for you, your plan is nothing more than your own destiny. What do you feel needs to be done?"

Iza mulls this over, something about Edvard's simplistic prompt clearing the fuzz from her thoughts. "First, I need riders. And then I need the dragons and riders to be comfortable with each other. And then I need to go back to the mountain before the mountain comes to us."

"It seems you already have a plan, then."

"I suppose…"

"What more do you need?" he wonders with a crinkle to his brow. "You seem to think you can plan for every eventuality, but the truth is that you cannot. There are no rules here, Iza, only what you can do and what you need to do."

_Right_, Iza thinks, a slow roll to her mind. _What I can do and what I need to do –and who is to say that those are not the same things?_

* * *

**A/N: And so goes another chapter! Anyone have any thoughts on who the other riders are going to be?**

**As a side note, the Vikings were kind of frank about sex and nudity. Vikings were very clean people, bathing more than many of their same-era counterparts, and they had a very open view of the human body. Because of how Viking dwellings were built as basically large rooms, it was not unusual for married couples to have sexual relations in front of their children, which might squick most of us out now but was actually pretty normal for the Vikings. The Vikings were also generally unbothered by nudity, so shared bathing was also normal.**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	28. twenty eight

**Twenty Eight**

Iza is not sure what happened when she and Edvard were discussing tentative plans, but when she wakes up slumped over her table with her face scant inches away from his, she her first thought is, _This is not what we planned._

She sits up with a sharp inhale, her cheeks burning and her back twinging from sleeping in such an awkward position. Her mind is hazy, trying to recall how she fell asleep at the table, and her last memory of the night before is a vague recollection of she and Edvard discussing possible riders for the dragons. She recalls that he had ruled himself out, apparently having no desire to be in the air when he feels he is more useful on the ground, and she remembers agreeing that with his seidr it was probably a good idea.

None of that explains how they managed to fall asleep _talking_, however. The stew Carlisle had made the night before _had_ been filling and she supposes that they _are_ both still fatigued from their journey to the mountain – but even still…

Even still, he is not a bad sight to wake up to. With a flush to her cheeks, she notices that she is becoming accustomed to the view, the way his mouth is relaxed and his brow is unfurrowed and the length of his lashes against his cheek.

Iza only stops _staring_ when Eko, who is resting before the hearth, huffs out in bemusement.

_Why do you keep looking at him_? Eko wonders.

Iza bites her lip. _It is a human thing_, she settles on saying.

_Humans are strange_, Eko notes. _If you want to mate him then you should just do it._

Iza whips her head around to gape at her dragon in shock. _"_Where did you hear about _that_?" she hisses, mindful to keep her voice down lest she wake her _guest_. Internally, she is caught between bemusement and alarm that her precious, _innocent_ dragon knows anything at all about _mating_ – which even she can acknowledge is an irrational response.

Eko does not seem all too bothered by Iza's bewilderment. _I asked Leiptr and Dyngju. Leiptr said that she expressed her interest and that Dyngju returned it. And then they mated. It seems very simple_.

_It is _not_ that simple for humans_, Iza tells her with hot cheeks. But even as she says it, she thinks it might be something of a lie. She certainly has peers who _do_ view marriage that simply. The fact is that it is _Iza_ who does not think it so simple – in fact, the very idea of openly saying _anything_ to Edvard even remotely forward is enough to seal her lips shut. Taking Eko's advice to _just do it_ is beyond the realm of her comprehension.

And it should be the absolute _last_ thing she is thinking of at the moment. Iza has priorities, which she knows that Edvard shares. They have a goal, and oaths and promises of trust aside, the goal must come first.

With that in mind, Iza stands up, stretches out her spine, and quietly moves around the longhouse to prepare herself for the day. Behind the dressings marking the alcove of her personal space, she changes into fresh clothing, brushes her hair, rubs the sleep out of her eyes, and pointedly ignores Eko's palpable confusion about Iza's embarrassment. When Iza collects a hunk of bread left over from the night before, she pauses at the table and wonders if she should wake Edvard or let him sleep.

The decision is taken out of her hands by Carlisle, who opens the door abruptly and says, "Iza you need to meet outside!" His tone is hurried and his blue eyes are a tad too wide and it is just sudden enough that Edvard jerks upright with a wince. To Edvard's credit, comprehension dawns on his face much quicker than it had Iza.

"What is it, Carlisle?" Iza asks, promptly forgetting her hunger and her banked embarrassment in favor of Carlisle's immediate concern. After all, Carlisle has not had _that_ look in his eye for months.

"Many people!" Carlisle says. "Dragons are not happy."

Iza's mind jumps to the worst case scenario, which is the Viking raiders _already_ returning before she has a chance to settle the village, so she is more than a little relieved when her rush out of the longhouse finds her facing not a mob, but a small collection of her peers. She breathes out a quick sigh of relief, observes the way a couple of the dragons seem irritated by one particularly _loud_ man, and presses her lips together.

Róża is the first to notice Iza, which means she is also the first to notice when Edvard ambles out of the longhouse with Eko. Róża's lips twist into an expression nearing salacious, which Iza blithely ignores.

"I did not expect you so soon," Iza says to the group. The sun is still rising so the morning is early and Iza had honestly not expected anyone for several more hours. But knowing the people involved, she should not be too surprised. Although she does not know him too well, she understands that Emebor is not a patient man. Iza steps forward, placing herself between the group and the dragons crawling from their tents. "Quiet down. Dragons have keener ears than we do."

"I _told you_ to keep your mouth shut," Róża says admonishingly to Emebor, who is supremely unbothered by the reprimand.

Instead, Emebor grins widely to show his dimples, claps his hands together, and asks, "Which one is mine?"

Iza stares for a moment, dumbfounded, and then glances at Alise questioningly. Alise is herself a few steps further away from the dragons than the rest of the group, cautious and thoughtful as she observes the scene. Noticing Iza's eyes on her, Alise lifts her diminutive shoulders. "My brother is the only other fool eager enough to try to ride a dragon. The rest of the village…"

Iza understands what Alise does not say and accepts it for what it is. Besides, she is confident that Alise is right about there being three other riders in addition to Róża – and unlike Emebor, _Iza_ can be patient enough to find the right person.

Emebor rubs his hands together. "How are we doing this? Do I get to pet them? Do we shake hands, er, claws? Should I roar at them?"

"For Odin's sake," Edvard mutters in irritation. "Shut up, you great oaf. You are giving me a headache already."

"Use kinder words, brother, and I might listen!"

Even without looking at him, Iza knows that Edvard is glowering, a harsh slant over his face indicating his annoyance. It is an expression she has seen him sport several times around Emebor, not that she blames him.

Róża taps the back of Emebor's head as she passes him, moving to crouch in front of Kaldr with her blue eyes narrowed critically. "Do not blow ice at me again," she warns the dragon. Kaldr merely stands up, circles Róża once, and then deliberately puffs icy air in her face again. Róża curls her lip at the dragon.

Jaspar, who has until now been silent, snorts loudly. "Was it not you last night who said that communing with dragons was easy?" Jaspar scoffs at his sister.

Róża glares at him and stands, arms crossed over her chest. "It is easy. Kaldr is just a bane, much like _someone_ I know."

"I am hurt," Jaspar says blandly. "Oh, how you wound me. I may never go on."

"I should have maimed you when we were children," Róża says coldly.

Jaspar merely rolls his eyes, and then much more calmly than Emebor, asks which dragon will be his. At this, Iza falters slightly, because although she and Edvard have discussed possibilities, it really is not up to her. Even Róża and Kaldr would not have been matched if Kaldr had not shown such a quick interest in the blonde. Iza supposes the same will have to be true for the other dragons finding riders.

"I think…We should break our fast together and allow the dragons to choose," Iza says after a moment. She silently asks that Eko relay the instructions to the other dragons, and soon the chittering chatter of dragons fills the yard.

_Make sure they know that they do not have to have riders_, Iza encourages Eko. Even with Alise's prediction, she is not going to force any dragon to have a rider they do not want, mostly because she knows that riding a dragon requires trust two ways.

And so it is with a sense of calm that the group of humans and dragons fill their stomachs, each group observing the other. Iza finds herself sat next to Edvard, who helps Róża mediate the force that is Emebor with some success. Over the meal, Iza watches as Leiptr and Dyngju show the humans more attention than they had before. Interestingly, Steinn does not seem to care for any of the humans and she watches his grey scales retreat to a tent to sulk well before the sun climbs to the highest point.

The morning passes quickly in this way, with two dragons cautiously circling Jaspar and Emebor, seeming to assess the character of the humans. Edvard and Alise stand in a cluster with Iza, trading speculations while Iza monitors the situation closely. Meanwhile, Róża and Kaldr engage in what seems to be a silent battle of wills, which does not seem to settle at all from what Iza can observe – although, as far as she can tell, the two simply glare at each other for several minutes at a time, reminding her of the staring contests children engage in.

As it happens, when Iza is not paying attention, one of the dragons makes a move. There is a sudden shout of surprise, an aborted curse that draws everyone's attention. Iza watches with wide eyes as Jaspar stumbles backward from Leiptr, who has opened her mouth to spit sparks of lightning at his feet.

"Hey! Stop that!" Jaspar yells, his feet quickly dancing backward to evade the sparks.

Leiptr does not stop, however. Her tail sways back and forth, pale violet eyes alight with something Iza recognizes as playfulness. Each time Jaspar steps out of the way, Leiptr is quick to counter his movement, keeping him in motion as they circle and scramble through the yard. After a while, Jaspar begins laughing, deep from the chest as he catches onto the dragon's game. By that point, he begins his own counter, finding a way to easily avoid Leiptr's sparks and forcing the dragon to take her own steps backward. Whatever playful challenge they dance to comes to a stalemate with the rest of their group staring dumbfounded as Jaspar finally manages to get close enough to tap Leiptr on the nose.

"Well," Iza breathes out.

Beside her, Alise nods. "Two riders left."

Edvard looks at them with a flat stare bordering incredulous, one brow twitching upward. "Is that it? _That_ is how a dragon selects a rider?" He presses his lips together. "If it is this simple, then why have we been laboring for choosing the right riders?"

Iza shoots him a look. "This was not simple at all. Leiptr was testing Jaspar, just like Kaldr continues to test Róża. Even Eko did something similar when she was newly hatched. It is about trust – and there is nothing simple about that."

"As to the riders, it is always wise to be cautious," Alise adds. She looks at Iza thoughtfully. "Cautious when we can be, that is."

Iza truly does not like _that_ undertone of Alise's. That's a tone that always feels more than a little foreboding, always makes her wonder what exactly Alise has seen.

For the most part, she does not want to know. Better to be surprised, sometimes.

"Alright," Edvard sighs then, seeming to accept it all at face value. He jerks his chin to the other side of the yard where Emebor and Dyngju are decidedly keeping their distance. "What about them?"

Iza tilts her head. "It may not be a match," she says quietly, a furrow to her brow. "Unfortunate for Emebor, considering his enthusiasm, but if Dyngju does not take to him then there is nothing that can be done. Dragons choose a rider or they have no rider at all."

Iza is resolute in this, firm and unwavering. She will not be moved by any opinion other than her own and Eko's – not in this. Dragons are not beasts or creatures. They are complex beings, every bit as deserving of dignity as humans and Gods. And no matter what Iza is or who her mother may be or what she is destined to do, she will _not_ compromise her promise that the dragons are treated fairly and with respect.

If Dyngju does not want a rider, than so be it. She says as much to Emebor, calling across the yard to snag his attention. Emebor's friendly face hardens for a moment, but surely enough his easy temperament melts the defiance away. Emebor glances at Dyngju with a frown, then looks to where Steinn is lazing in a tent, and then back to Dyngju.

"Could I have just a bit more time?" he asks, and his tone is so plaintive that Iza agrees he will have until the sun sets to gain Dyngju's trust.

Part of her hopes that Dyngju will see how his mate fairs will Jaspar and then he will change his mind. But she does not know if that hope is a false one, or not. Even Eko is uncertain, gathering from Dyngju that the dragon is not as free-feeling as Leiptr nor as strong-headed as Kaldr. Of all the dragons with them, Dyngju is perhaps the dragon with the most caution – which Iza finds interesting simply because he is a fire dragon. Even Eko, who has a similar ability, does not express as much caution. She wonders what is in Dyngju's past that makes him this way, and then decides that it is probably better to not know.

Although none of them are particularly hungry, the healer in Carlisle insists they all eat something during mid-day. They sit around outside with some of the ripe fruits Alise brought from her family's farm and water that Carlisle has collected diligently from the river even in the hottest heat of the summer. While Dyngju and Steinn keep some of their distance, Eko, Kaldr, and Leiptr linger near enough to the humans that even Alise relaxes in their proximity.

Iza sips at her water and watches as Emebor does his best to cloak his envy when he sees Kaldr and Leiptr interacting with their riders. He clearly wants to ride a dragon, has the kind of boyish enthusiasm that frankly baffles her, but he also does his best to reign in his impulse to hassle the dragons. Looking at him, Iza thinks it will be a real shame if Dyngju and Steinn continue to ignore him.

Edvard apparently agrees, because he leans over and says wryly, "I have not seen Emebor pout this much since Róża first rejected him."

Iza arches a brow. "I did not know Emebor had been rejected," she says, mostly to herself. Of course, Iza does not keep up with most gossip in the village, so it is not any wonder if she had not heard of something like that – but she still finds it surprising, noting how close and comfortable Róża and Emebor are to each other. As far as she knew, they had been a couple for the past few years and plan to marry come fall.

Even a happy pairing had a rocky start. Looking at Emebor, she wonders if that is simply a pattern for most of his relationships – if perhaps he is too enthusiastic and comes on too strongly, ultimately creating distance between himself and others. If this is true, then could it be the same for Dyngju, who is cautious in everything?

Maybe. Maybe her hope is not a false one.

Róża, apparently having overheard some of their conversation, lets out an inelegant amused snort. "Oh, by Frigg, he was not rejected just the once."

Emebor grins cheekily. "My Róża made me work for her hand."

"It was entertaining," Jaspar adds.

"Nauseating," Edvard disagrees.

"Expected," Alise finishes sagely. And of course she _would_ say as much.

Not for the first time, Iza notices the closeness of this group and recognizes how on the fringes she has been. She knows them, but she does not _know_ them. Yet even as she acknowledges this truth, she sees that perhaps not all of this group is as close as she assumes. Like her, Edvard seems to hold himself away, as does Alise.

Alise she figures has a natural disinclination to being social, being as gifted as she is. Her long-standing crush on Jaspar notwithstanding, Alise does not make a habit of interacting with people more than she absolutely has to – mostly due to how unnerved people are of her.

For Edvard, she does not quite understand his slight separation. He is popular in the village, well respected and admired. He does not lack for companionship should he seek it, but the fact is that he does not seek it. He spends his time hunting and training and lending a helping hand where he can, steadfast and true. If she did not know about his parentage, she would think that Edvard had some other reason for being close – but not _too close_ – to people.

Knowing his secret, though, puts it all in a different light. Like her, Edvard is different enough that being close to others is a challenge in one way or another.

Is this perhaps the plight of Halflings? Not fully mortal and so not fully accepted?

Something to ponder later.

For now, it is enough to keep a watchful eye on the situation and engage in the conversation around them. Carlisle is convinced to sit with them and he quickly looses the nerves that keep him anxiously running around, talking in low tones with Jaspar about the Saxon lands and the like. When it becomes known that Carlisle is trained in medicine and that Iza has taught him as much of their language as she can to help with their studies, Alise has the bright – and _highly _convenient – idea to bring up Esme, a woman in the village who acts as teacher for most of the young children. Alise _insists_ that Carlisle go meet Esme when he next has a free day, as she is certain that Esme will be able to help Carlisle more fully integrate.

Iza suppresses her amusement, wondering what Alise is up to trying to make a match with a Saxon slave and a widowed woman.

_Better to leave it_, Iza decides. Alise's machinations are rarely without cause. Maybe Esme truly does have some knowledge that would benefit Carlisle. Iza does not have any issue with letting Carlisle find out – he is more friend than slave, and slave in name only because of the protection it offers him. Eventually she will free him, when she can be confident that the village has accepted his presence as much as they have accepted Wilhelm's before he was freed. If Alise can help that become a reality, then Iza will be grateful.

Just as Iza turns to offer her gratitude to Alise in low tones, a commotion from the other side of the yard breaks through the quiet.

There is a yell and a thump, followed by a clamor, a distinctive _snap_, and a fluttering of loose material – and immediately following that is the dangerous rumble of an irate dragon.

Edvard is on his feet before Iza, already dashing toward the noise in stride with Eko by the time Iza scrambles to her feet. Thankfully the disruption is not to far away, so even before she gets there she can see that Jakob is responsible for managing to knock over a stack of firewood _and_ break a tent over a sleeping dragon.

"Eko!" Iza shouts and soon the sound of Eko's chittering fills the air, driving Steinn away from a cowering Jakob and leaving enough room for Edvard to drag Jakob away by the scruff of his neck. The young teenager is wide-eyed, gaping at the dragon who is glaring right back at him. Iza sighs through her nose. "Jakob. _What_ are you doing here?"

Jakob is perhaps too dim or too shocked to recognize the warning in her tone, so he merely answers, "I was curious."

"Curious enough to lose a limb," Edvard mutters, shoving Jakob toward the group and leaving Iza to calm the dragons down.

If she's lucky, maybe Edvard will be able to knock some sense into her young cousin, since she _clearly_ has not been able to. Although Steinn is a largely unmoved dragon, he clearly has a temper when his sleep is interrupted – and the last thing Iza needs is jakob managing to _actually_ lose a limb from irritating a dragon. Better Edvard dealing with Jakob than Iza, because she is stressed enough she might truly slap the little fool.

It takes Eko and Iza several minutes to calm Steinn, who has gone from silent to incredibly grumpy. And yet even that whole time, Steinn's eyes are trained on Jakob – not in anger, exactly, but in _something_.

_Will he eat Jakob?_ Iza asks Eko, a tinge of worry corded around her stomach.

_Not today,_ Eko replies, much to Iza's concertation. Her dragon is picking up _cheek_ of all things.

The one good thing about Jakob's untimely arrival is that it has apparently inspired Dyngju into action. By the time Iza eases back into conversation, most of which is admonishing Jakob, she notices that Dyngju has allowed Emebor close to him. And Emebor, for his own part, seems delighted that the standoffish dragon seems to have accepted him. She is not sure what swayed Dyngju, but for now the dragon seems to think Emebor is the best way to keep Jakob away from him.

Iza looks at Alise, and they seem to share the same thought. _One rider left_.

_Or maybe all the riders have been found_, she amends as Jakob and Steinn continue to stare at each other curiously.

Could it truly be that easy?

* * *

**A/N: Hmmm, is it that easy? Well, _something_ has to be! **

**Happy New Year, everyone! Hopefully this decade is going to be good for everyone! **

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	29. twenty nine

**Chapter Twenty Nine**

Dragons finding the right riders _is_ as easy as an instant of connection. Given how fast she bonded with Eko, she should have known. It is at least one less thing to worry about, because as it turn out other things are less easy.

When Iza wakes one morning several days later and sees the black dots bobbing in the ocean on the horizon, her stomach sinks with the realization that the coming day is not going to be easy in the slightest - because Vikings on the horizon can only mean two things.

Either Vikings are visiting for trade, or the Vikings of Forks have returned.

Iza does not need to wait for the Vikings to disembark from the boats to know which one it is. She recognizes the peculiar curving carve of the longboats and the voice shouting directions over the chopping waves of the fjords.

A stone in her stomach and Iza _knows_. The Chieftain is back – her _father_ has finally returned, and with him, his immobile opinions.

Iza looks at Eko, who stands at her side at the top of the hill, watching as the Vikings maneuver the boats closer to dock with her frills standing tall, and feels iron lance up her spine, straightening her shoulders. Determination swells between them, rich in their bond as their dual-toned eyes lock together.

Iza will _make_ the Vikings understand, and Eko will _not_ let her fall or fail.

"Carlisle," Iza calls as she struts back into the longhouse. Iza disappears into her corner of the room, swiftly dragging a leather vest over her tunic dress and strapping her feet into her boots. She combs her fingers through her hair, fixes a loose braid, and emerges with bright eyes on a serious face. By the time she is ready, Carlisle is standing near the door with a perplexed expression. She fixes him with a strong stare and says, "The raiders are back. We are going to greet them."

Comprehension dawns on the Saxon's face, along with a hint of nerves. She cannot blame him; the last time Carlisle had been near any raiders, he'd been chained and starving. Even so, Carlisle offers a nod and hurries to fix his own appearance, fully prepared to follow Iza into the village.

"Eko," she says, and without any further explanation, Eko chitters at the other dragons until they are all standing and ready to leave.

Briefly – only for a moment – Iza considers leaving the dragons in the forest, imagining exactly how _well_ an image of her trailed by five large dragons is going to go with her father. But she pushes the apprehension away, grits her teeth with her resolve, and stubbornly thinks, _Let him be alarmed. I have nothing to hide. This is the right path_.

And truly, the path she forges is the _only_ path.

Walking into the village with five dragons and a Saxon at her back means that the villagers give her a wide berth. While she appreciates the space on behalf of the dragons, she also knows that there is nothing to hide the sight – even temporarily – from the Vikings that are booting down on the docks. And surely enough, one by one, they all turn to gape at Iza as she comes to a stop at the edge of the docks.

She waits, her chin tilted high, arms down at her sides.

The Chieftain turns, perhaps prompted by the sudden hush of the crowd, and his dark eyes widen in muted surprise. To his credit, her father is a smart man and seems to quickly grasp that the situation is Iza's doing. Behind his dark beard, his lips thin out and he fixes Iza with something akin to a glare. "_What_ have you done?"

"I have saved us," Iza states boldly, feeling that truth settle deeply between her ribs.

And it is perhaps only by the grace of the Gods themselves – or maybe the stony conviction lancing her voice – that keeps Chalisław from reacting in outright anger. He breathes in deeply through his nose, takes a brief assessment of the villagers watching the scene with baited breath, and then exhales sharply. "Let us speak elsewhere," he says lowly, already walking with a proud stride past Iza and the dragons.

Iza does as she is bid and follows her father into the Great Hall, which is empty so early in the morning. Iza makes a point of guiding the dragons and Carlisle in with her before she turns and closes the door with a decisive _thump_.

When she turns around, her father is roughly scrubbing his hands over his face and staring at her with a banked fire in his gaze. Iza is somewhat surprised by this, as she knows her father to be a level-headed man who chooses his words wisely. To see him in any capacity of anger is always somewhat shocking. To see that irritation directed at her is intimidating, but she does not fold.

"Things have changed while you have been away," Iza tells him needlessly.

"Dragons," he returns curtly. "And a Saxon. Yours, I assume."

"Yes."

"_Why_? What could have possibly made you do _this_? Iza, you are sensible and this is –"

"_This_ is destiny," Iza asserts firmly. "Father. You have been gone for several months, much longer than normal, and the village still remains standing even despite what I have done. Does that not say something about my actions?"

The Chieftain grunts. He looks at each of the dragons in turn, taking note of how calm they are, and then looks at Carlisle with a skeptical tilt of his brow. Eventually, he heaves out a deep sigh, pinches his nose, and finds a seat at one of the tables in the Hall. "Explain everything."

And so, Iza does.

And through it all, the Chieftain remains a stern countenance – not one of disbelief, not one of anger, not one of awe – but an expression of stony, resolute attention. Not once does his expression waver. Not once does his flinch or glare or dismiss. In fact, the only time he shows any type of reaction – a sudden wan paleness to his cheeks beneath his beard – is when Iza glosses over Dagmar calling her Changemaker, a detail she cannot afford to leave out with her father because of its relevancy.

But she does make a note of it, wondering in the back of her mind why he had reacted to _Changemaker_ over anything else. It is, she thinks, a bit telling. Or damning.

At the end of it, when Iza is detailing that the dragons behind her have all found humans they are willing to allow as riders, the Chieftain finally closes his eyes. He pulls at his beard, the expression on his face one she imagines she makes often – a certain thoughtfulness as ideas are churned over and over. Iza waits patiently. The dragons wait, too, seeming to take their cues from Eko, who takes her cues from Iza that silence and stillness are the best things for the moment.

"I will allow it," her father rumbles after a long, long moment. His eyes open and he speaks in a tone as frank as his stare. "Even as I say this, though, I know that I am not in a position to allow you anything. This, what you have done, is too far progressed to be stopped. And with the Elders not in strong opposition and the village willing to try, I can only support this…innovative solution you have found. That you have managed to do this at all…"

Iza furrows her brows, uncertain of what the expression on her father's face means. She doesn't have to wait long, because the Chieftain continues.

"I am proud of you, my daughter," he says fondly.

Iza's heart jumps between her ribs. Would he still be proud, she wonders, if she told him about the other things she has learned – about being struck with Thor's hammer and speaking with Loki and learning that she is only half-human? Would be be proud, then? Perhaps it is a boldness born out of a confidence that her father has _pride_ in her that loosens her tongue, but quite without her thinking about it, Iza blurts out a question.

"Do you think my mother would be proud, too?"

Predictably, as it always does when her missing mother is mentioned, the Chieftain's expression shutters. And Iza, who has spent an entire life missing a woman she has never met and who is so _close_ to finally discovering who brought her into the world, releases a fissure of frustration that is constantly banked in the back of her mind.

"Who was she?" Iza demands. "Who was my mother? Where did she go? Why won't you _ever_ speak about her?"

"Izabela!"

"I deserve to know! I need to know! I am – that is – this is not something that should be kept from me! Who she was and why she left are part of who I am – and who I am is something that even an ancient dragon recognizes as _other_. So, who was she, Father?"

Maybe the Chieftain is moved by her passion or maybe he is simply tired, but either way the fight seems to drain from him, leaving his eyes weighted with an old fatigue. "Your mother was not like other women," he says quietly. "She was outspoken, much like you are, and cunning, again like you. She always seemed to know exactly what she should do and never faltered. She was beautiful and her mind was preoccupied with the future, always curious about what would happen next…The only time it seemed like she was in the present and fully with _me_ was when she was pregnant with you…"

"Father…"

"Perhaps I should have known," he muses, a muted pain on his face. "Perhaps I should have realized that she is like the wind – I certainly knew that she was restless, I just thought she was excited for our family...I thought we would be enough to keep her here. But then you were born and she did not even wait to wean you before she disappeared…"

Something about the way he speaks, about the words he uses, makes thoughts swirl and blend together in her mind. _Not like other women. Preoccupied with the future. The only time she was in the present. Enough to keep her here._

"…What was her name?" Iza asks, a quiver between her lungs.

Her father stares at her, dark eyes seeing her but also looking straight through her. She wonders what – or who – he sees. She wonders about a lot of things, but mostly at his silence and the way he seems to be holding himself back.

"What was her name?" she asks again.

The Chieftain breathes out slowly and when he speaks it is with a quiet sort of reverence reserved only for the Gods themselves. She does not understand the tone until his speech fully registers in her mind. And then at that, she can only join her father at the table and sit with him in silence as all the errant pieces of her life fall into place.

"She called herself Skuld," the Chiftain had revealed.

_She called herself Skuld_.

Oh.

Iza is Skuldsdottir.

* * *

**A/N: Whoop there it is! The big reveal for why this story is called _dottir_. I mean, we've known Iza is a Halfling and knew her mother wasn't mortal, so obviously her Godly parent was what made her a _dottir_ just like Edvard's Godly parent is what makes him a _son_. But now we know who! Which brings me to...**

**Norse things in this chapter! Alright! Who is Skuld? In Norse mythology, Skuld of one of three Norns who are responsible for the destiny of basically the whole universe. Skuld was the Norn responsible for future events and its thought that the English word _should_ is derived from her name. Skuld was also a Valkyrie and known for her ferocity in battle. She was pretty much a badass and like other Norns was considered a separate entity from the other Norse Gods - she and the other Norns are the few figures in mythology who could tell Odin to choke on one of his ravens without any consequences. And like other Norse figures, the Norns were known to walk among the people, sometimes even to influence events to their liking. **

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	30. thirty

**Chapter Thirty**

Ever since Iza found out, Eko has been reluctant to leave her side – rightly understanding how shaken Iza is by the revelation. Even knowing that her mother was not mortal had not prepared her for learning who exactly her mother is. Even after Loki called her Halfling and she began entertaining the thought that maybe some minor entity had carried her for nine months had not prepared her for the truth.

Iza's mother was not a minor entity at all. If the Chieftain is to be believed – and with Loki's confirmation she has no reason to doubt him – then her mother had truly been Skuld.

Skuld, one of the three main Norns sitting at the base of Yggdrasil and weaving the strands of destiny. Skuld, the Norn who anticipated the future and who acted as messenger. Skuld, who was a Valkyrie guiding Viking souls to Valhalla, who had battled prowess, who was not a minor entity easily forgotten or dismissed at all.

It seems all too obvious now why Iza would be called Changemaker. After all, as Skuldsdottir, Iza _would_ be a catalyst to change the future. She had been born by a Norn of the future for that express purpose.

She does not know how to feel about it. And she does not think her father knows how to feel about it, either, which has made their interactions somewhat…tense. Since their conversation in the Great Hall, Iza and the Chieftain have not exchanged more than a handful of words. It is not as if they were particularly communicative before, but the change is still jarring. Awkward.

The fact that Iza saved a Saxon and took him as a slave is also a source of tension. Although the Chieftain had saved Wilhelm when he was only a little older than Iza, the fact that _Iza_ has followed the same family tradition seems to perturb her father. She does not know whether it is because she is female and saved a male slave, or if it is because Carlisle is Saxon, or because Carlisle is already flourishing in their community – but for whatever reason, the Chieftain only grouches and grumbles when Carlisle is near.

Ever mindful of the dragons and her ultimate mission, Iza tries to find a solution for this issue. The best she can come up with is simply moving Carlisle somewhere else – out of sight, out of mind hopefully. She does consider officially freeing Carlisle, but while the Saxon is clearly comfortable in the Viking village and the Viking way of life, some instinct has her hesitating. It is not the right time. Too much turbulence. If she freed Carlisle now and the alliance with the dragons went south, then there would be nothing to shield him from retribution. At least now Carlisle has the inherent protection of being owned by the Chieftain's daughter – and while the Chieftain still gives her favor, she should take advantage of it to protect her friend and his future. Even if they do not like _her_ and do not accept her, the people of Forks would still respect the tradition that is upheld by the Chieftain, and Iza is practical enough to use what she can.

The question of where to move Carlisle is another matter entirely. She needs to place him somewhere that is safe but where his freedom to do as he pleases will not be limited. She has half a mind to tuck him into the cave where she hatched Eko, but dismisses the thought as soon as it comes. Carlisle, she does not think, will be able to live in a _cave_, not even to make do temporarily.

The answer does not come until she mentions it offhand to Edvard while he and the others are visiting the dragons several days later.

"He can stay with me," Edvard says. "I have only just finished building my own home and there is room."

Hearing that Edvard had somehow made the time to build his own longhouse on some vacant patch of land is less surprising than his offer to take Carlisle in. The shock must be plain on her face, because he offers her a rare slight smile, green eyes warm in amusement.

"Is it so surprising?" he wonders with an arch of his brow.

"No," she says truthfully, because it is not surprising at all. Edvard, she knows, is capable in many ways, even in ways she does not expect – generous in ways she does not expect.

Carlisle follows Edvard home that day, a cloth sack of his belongings on his back and a faint smile on his face. Carlisle had not wanted to leave until Iza explained her reasoning, and then once she had, he had protested more because he was concerned that she was not taking her own safety as seriously as his. Iza stayed firm in her decision, however.

It seems lately that staying firm in her decisions is all she can do. That and help bridge the gaps between dragons and their riders.

Following the return of the Chieftain and the departure of Carlisle, it seems only natural that the area for keeping the dragons also shifts to Edvard's patch of land. With the village Chief now occupying the space – and with his leeriness over the dragons still lingering even after meeting them – it is inevitable that the temporary shelter for the dragons moves. Over the course of several days, with tents and people and weapons and dragons all migrating over to Edvard's longhouse, Iza finds herself naturally shadowing the movement. Even her collection of books and paper and ink find a home on a table just outside the longhouse door.

Edvard does not seem to mind. He is not burdened by living with Carlisle. He is not bothered by the dragon tents in his yard or the dragons sleeping in them. He does not mind the continued presence of four dragon riders or Iza, who oversees the mounting of the dragons. If anything, he accepts the intrusion into his personal space as something that happens by rote. He merely goes about his own routines, sharpening his sword and his skills, hunting and patrolling the woods, and generally being as stoic and quiet and watchful as ever.

And so, more and more, Iza spends less time at the longhouse on the highest hill – instead, she occupies herself with preparing for a predicted battle alongside unpredicted allies.

The long days of summer continue to stretch over them, hot and humid and the air rich with the sweet scent of blooming fields. With the village full once more, there feels like there is more time to dedicate to other pursuits now that more helping hands make work pass more quickly. The exception, of course, is their insular group as there does not seem to be enough time in the world to make each dragon and rider comfortable flying in tandem.

Flying together is the point of the alliance. Two heads do work better than one, after all, and the addition of a human rider means twice the ability to attack. The problem, however, is getting both dragon and rider on the same page.

Iza takes the time again and again to demonstrate with Eko. She straddles Eko's back right above her wings, hands braced on the base of Eko's neck as her dragon rises through the air, banking against the wind currents in the sky, leaning and bending with each of Eko's movements. She uses Loki's bow, showing how easily long-range weapons work at the right height and distance. The more demonstrations she makes, the more natural it feels to be in the air, the swooping in her stomach and the fine tremble in her hands vanishing as her comfort increases.

And yet, it seems her demonstrations are not effective. Perhaps this is because the others do not have the benefit of a mental bond, or perhaps it is because of clashing temperaments and personalities, but not any two pairs can ride in the air well at the same time – even without the addition of weapons.

Jaspar and Leiptr, while well-matched in temperament, have vastly different speeds. Leiptr's flying is as quick as the lightning in her veins. Jaspar, on the other hand, is used to the chopping speeds of boats on the water and after a certain point pales at the speed that Leiptr can reach.

Dyngju and Emebor have a different problem, mostly in the fact that Dygnju does not allow Emebor on his back half the time. The issue seems to be with the way Emebor's weight prevents the full expansion of Dyngju's wingspan, thus hampering Dyngju's ability to fly at all. While Dyngju is one of the larger dragons in their outfit, Emebor is also the largest rider.

Steinn and Jakob seem to have a similar issue in that the sharp array of closely-gathered spikes that line the Steinn's spine prevent Jakob from sitting at all. The stone-like dragon seems to _want_ Jakob to ride, but the fact of the matter is that Jakob cannot without injuring himself. Jakob, however, seems to treat this as a fun challenge and Iza does not worry about his ability to find a solution – even if she _does_ worry that her young cousin is placing himself in too much risk. Jakob cannot be talked about of this commitment.

Kaldr and Róża have such conflicting personalities that their constant power struggle means flying any higher than five or so feet is not safe for Róża, as Kaldr has a habit of bucking his rider off when he feels irked. Róża has more than one bruise from landing on ground only just softened by matured grass. The issue between these two seems mostly about trust, or perhaps communication.

Iza observes all of this and she silently despairs. How is she to fix any of this? Time, she knows, is the only solution to any of these problems – but she does not know how much time they have. It could be hours or days or weeks until the next dragon attack, and none of them are ready.

And so day after day, she returns to Edvard's longhouse and helps where she can and ends up staying later and later, only returning home when the moon is high in the sky. At the very least, her days are not full of frustration. Often times while the others are working on flying, Iza will find herself flipping through pages at the table by the door, looking through the Eddas she has made to try and find some information – _any_ information – about her mother.

But for all that Skuld is a legendary and well-known Norn, the stories about her that Iza has painstakingly gathered into the Eddas is rather scant. The Eddas, the legends of the Gods that Iza has fashioned into a collection, have much more to say about the deities under Odin's reign. The Norns as a whole are only talked about as an aside, with not much known about them. Tales about Skuld are no different.

She gives up on that search after several days and, quite without intending to, begins to compile a different sort of information. A new kind of Edda, made not from tales and legends, but from verified information. She writes it in her own hand, the runes smooth and descriptive. Careful to keep this Edda as private as possible, she writes what she knows of the Halflings in the village – herself and Edvard, and what each of them have gained from their divine parentage. She also records Eko's hatching and the things that Dagmar had told her that night on the mountain. During this time, Iza finally finds a name for the Malice Striker – Nidhogg.

After she writes the name down, she pauses and frowns at the page. Nidhogg. An apt name, but something about it strikes her strangely, as if she has seen it before. She has not, she knows, but she has well learned that she should not disregard any of these odd instincts and insights she sometimes has.

What is it about Nidhogg that feels fuzzily familiar? She does not know. It is another question to be unraveled.

This is how the last days of summer pass – with baited breath and confusion and frustration and hard-won progress. It is only near the end of summer and after several weeks that the dragons and their riders can all be in the sky at once. Jaspar adapted to Leiptr's speed, Emebor learned to sit behind Dyngju's wings, Jakob found a way to balance his weight on his knees to avoid Steinn's spikes, and Kaldr and Róża seemed to have reached some sort of agreement based entirely on non-verbal cues that feel mildly hostile.

Seeing them all in the air together, easily flying in various formations high into the clouds, Iza feels some relief. The hard part, she thinks, is over.

Next is finding weapons that the riders can carry and easily use. It is very much not the Viking way, but the use of longswords while on the back of a dragon is ineffective. The range is not long enough and the risk of losing the sword is too high. Exploring other options takes time and is again something Iza can only help with from the sidelines.

But here is where Edvard's striking prowess as a warrior makes itself known. He is particularly skilled with most weapons, many of which have a long enough range to be used. He takes the time to personally train Jakob, giving input to the others with a level of patience Iza finds admirable. He even makes a point of correcting Iza's posture so that her archery is more accurate than before, bending over her back to straighten her shoulder and lower her elbow and correct the placement of her fingers on the bowstring, all while Iza's heart racing in her chest. She thinks that Edvard notices, the corner of his lip quirking upward as he moves away to help another.

It is among a thousand other little touches that make Iza dizzy. She loses count of which ones make the flush on her face last the longest – but she knows that each are innocuous, especially compared to the overt nature of Róża and Emebor's affections.

Eko seems vaguely confused by how easily flustered Iza is, insisting that if she would just _mate Edvard she would be much more calm_. It is mortifying that her dragon is braver than she is. But she feels like she needs to be _certain_ about Edvard's interest before she can act on her own, and between all the demands on her time and attention, she cannot find that certainty.

_Other things are more important_, she reminds herself, and it is true enough.

Rather, it feels true enough until one late night near the end of summer. With a long day of training with Eko and the others, Iza had spent the darkening hours after the evening meal trying to recall more of what Dagmar had said of Nidhogg, dutifully recording the words as clearly as possible into the Edda. Around her, the others depart while Carlisle helps Edvard clear the yard once more, Eko chittering with the dragons.

She must fall asleep at some point, because she wakes with her chin cradled in her hand and Edvard crouched by her side, his brows furrowed in obvious concern. "You are tired," he tells her softly, and there is a soft touch to her shoulder, a large palm curling warmly over the thin fabric of her tunic. "Should I walk you home? Or would you rather allow Eko to take you?"

Iza blinks up at him sleepily, her mind mussed and clouded. She stares up at Edvard's face and feels a sense of calm, a sense of contentment, and a bit of nostalgia. She has stared up at this face before in the low light, hidden in the hollow of a tree while a white snow storm blitzed around them. She has stared up at this face before, time and again, with the expression firm, resolute, determined – but also kind and burdened and amused and conflicted and warm with fondness. She has stared up at this face before and felt _safe_.

So perhaps that is why she leans up, closing the distance between them as if she has done so a hundred times before. Their lips slide together, smooth and supple as her breath catches in her lungs and as he releases a low gasp – and then the kiss deepens, grows into something _more_. A declaration. A claim. A promise. Hands close around her waist, pulling her closer to a broad chest, and her fingers curl into untamed coppery hair.

As her first kiss is claimed again and again, Iza wonders how foolish she could ever be to wait patiently for this moment to come. With her skin shivering and her nerves alight, she thinks that _this_ is one thing that must be taken at the first opportunity.

And Edvard seems to agree.

* * *

**A/N: _Yeah_, you _bet_ he agrees! Who would have thought Iza would be the one to make the first official move? I don't know about anyone else, but I am most honest in like the first 2 minutes I'm awake than any other part of the day - that's why you should wake me up nicely.**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	31. thirty one

**Thirty One**

The kiss changes both nothing and everything. Their mission is still the same, the training is still time-consuming, her quest for some clarity continues – but between it all are touches and glances that linger and a sense of freedom Edvard feels to hover nearer to her space more often.

They tell no one, but if kisses are shared at the end of the day, hidden behind trees and in the stretch of end-day shadows, then it is their secret to keep. Only Eko knows, and that is only by the virtue of their bond. Among all the secrets that Iza has kept, this is perhaps the one she will guard most jealously.

That does not stop Alise from commenting, however. "You will wed in the winter," she says on the next bathing day.

Iza blanches and promptly changes the topic of conversation – because _being wed in winter_ is just about the _furthest_ thing from her mind. Not that she dislikes the idea, but still, she does not think either of them are ready.

Although it does beg the question – will Nidhogg be a concern of the past once the winter months settle in? She takes Alise's words with that in mind, using the stray comment as proof that she is taking the right path.

Because that is something Iza worries about, late into the night while everyone else but she and Eko slumber. Is she taking the right steps? Is she walking the right path? Is the forging the right way? Could she be doing something better – or is there something that she has missed?

She is a Changemaker, but for all the good of the title, she still does not know if what she does is right. And is that not her burden? Usher in the future, but usher in the _right_ future, one that is bright and peaceful and hopeful. Can she do that? Is she already doing it? Or has she made a fatal misstep, something which she thought was right but is actually wrong?

Alise says Iza and Edvard will be wed by winter. Knowing herself, Iza cannot imagine she would wed _anyone_ unless the circumstances were peaceful, so she hopes that Alise has seen that the near-future is bright enough that Iza would feel comfortable with a wedding. She takes it as confirmation that she is doing the right thing and lets that be a comfort to her for her later sleeplessness.

It is easier to think of the prediction that way than in the way Alise had surely intended.

Iza as a wife? The very through makes blood rush up to her face and her hands tremble as she scrubs at the clothes in the cold spring.

Eko, for her part, is very smug about it all.

Eko never seems to have any doubts. Whether this is because Eko is not human or because Eko's personality does not abide doubt, Iza cannot help but envy her dragon. What must it be like, she thinks, to always be so sure footed? Iza might be able to bluff her way to certainty, but even she falters.

But to doubt is to be human. Skuldsdottir or not, Iza is still half-mortal and is still vulnerable to mortal flaws. Admittedly, Iza does not suffer from hubris, but the confidence that she does have in her own mind and her surety guaranteed by the magic in her blood means that she if often more confident than not. That she has any doubts at all is something of a comfort – because she is definitely not the only one in the village who has doubts.

She can see it in their eyes as she walks through the Great Hall for the late meal. She can hear it in the hushed whispers. She can feel it, the weight of expectation on her shoulders. And even the dragon riders show some hesitancy, even as they train their skin in flying and fighting.

Yet Alise has no doubt. Alise has no hesitation.

Later, when the riders have left and Carlisle is occupied and night has fallen, Iza stands with Edvard and gazes up at the mountain that looms in the distance. She does not mention Alise's marriage prediction, but she does bring up how perplexed she is by Alise's certainty.

There is a wry expression on Edvard's face as he considers it. "She has always been like that," he says of his adoptive sister. "It is her way. Has it surprised you so greatly?"

"No," Iza admits. "But it has reminded me of how important all of this is – not that I ever forgot, but I have been so lost in the day to day matters that the bigger goal disappeared."

"The bigger goal? The battle with Nidhogg?"

Iza shakes her head. "Nidhogg is not the end. Nidhogg is just part of the journey. No, the real goal is the peace that will follow. All of these other events, the training and the tension with the village and bartering with the Elders and convincing the Chieftain…these are just steps that we are taking along the way."

Edvard is quiet for a long moment, but she can feel him starting at her. She turns her head to meet his gaze, the quiet stretching between them as the night grows darker. Eventually, Edvard breaks the silence. "You manage to become more wise each day," he says.

"Is that not why you follow me?" she asks, a teasing lilt in her voice.

"It is one of many reasons," he murmurs, leaning toward her just enough that she can catch the seidr flashing in his brilliant green eyes. "Your beauty is another."

Iza hardly has time to appreciate the blistering flush in her cheeks before Edvard is closing the distance between their lips, capturing her in an embrace full of ardor. There is a slow-coiling heat that rises between them, felt in the warmth of their skin as hands pass over rough cotton and breaths are shared between the brief parting of lips. His hand moves to the nape of her neck, supporting the angle of her head as he moves to deepen the kiss, arm tight around the dipping curve of her waist as his teeth nip at her swelling lips. Iza can only surrender herself to his unrelenting affection, letting herself be swept away in his current not unlike how the water pulled her beneath the fjords as a child.

There are worse things to surrender herself to, worse things to be lost in. But all the same, she is glad that by the time she and Eko return home, the Chieftain is already asleep, filling the longhouse with the sound of familiar snores.

Iza beds down for the night, touching her tender lips, and thinks, _Yes, there are worse things to be lost in, indeed_.

And that is how the days go. The long ending stretch of the hot summer begins to come to a close and as the sun begins to set earlier, the village begins to prepare for the harvest and the winter. It has been several, several weeks since the last dragon battle and the entire village is feeling the anxiety. After all, should Nidhogg's dragons attack now, they will be facing another scant winter with a harvest ruined by dragonfire.

Eyes turn to Iza and Iza begins to _wonder_.

What is it, exactly, that keeps Nidhogg from attacking? She assumes he learned of someone being on the mountain given that three of his dragons never returned. She suspects he is aware of most, if not all, of Dagmar's activities. Could he be aware of _her_, specifically? And if he is, what is he waiting for?

What is Iza waiting for?

She considers how well the others are doing and concludes that everyone is as well-trained as they possibly can be. Nobody has fallen, or been bucked, from a dragon for a while. Each rider is comfortable with their long-range weapons, whether they are Emebor's spears, Jaspar's bow, Róża's collection of daggers, or Jakob's rock-loaded slingshot. The dragons themselves have even worked out a way to use their individual talents near each other without injuring their own allies, something that had been tricky to master. Edvard, she knows, has been quietly blending his seidr into his swordplay to create a seamless blend of defensive and offensive technique – and even if he does keep his mastery a secret from the others, Iza has seen enough to understand that he is perfectly lethal, even twice as lethal as before.

Iza is confident in her dragons and riders and allies. She can only assume that Nidhogg is equally as confident, especially seeing as he has been dragon king of that mountain since before Iza was born.

So, what are either of them waiting for? The best time to strike? The most advantageous moment? The most devastating moment? There is something that holds each of them back. For Iza, she has a reluctance to leave the village unattended to storm the mountain with the riders. If she takes the riders from the village, then the village is vulnerable to dragons secretly breaking off from the mountain, which means that Iza's group will end up fighting on two fronts – not ideal since there are so few of them. Going to Nidhogg's door to knock off his crown is not a plan she can entertain for more than a moment for that reason.

Which means, of course, that Nidhogg will be the one to make the first move. But when will he choose to strike malice? It is impossible to know.

Helpless and frustrated, Iza flips through the Eddas. She knows these stories like the back of her own hand, and had in fact written the myths of her people and their Gods by her own hand. She _knows_ these tales, but she still searches through every splotch of ink in search for an answer – a clue – a direction to go in. Her Gods have been on so many journeys, have accomplished so many great feats, that surely there must be some kernel of knowledge she can gain from their splendor.

The only insight she gains is that the Gods themselves know not what they have done until it is over. Although they are not mortal, the Gods are just as human and just as prone to mistakes. The only ones who do know are the Norns, and even they cannot speak without consequence.

Still, a thought Iza had many, many weeks ago, deep in a haven of a mountain, returns to her. Can she, as the daughter of a Norn, not pray to the Norns for a real answer? Surely they will answer her, as she shares their blood. Surely, if she were to pray to her own mother, the Norn who resides over the fate of the future – surely then Iza would know what to do.

But prayers, she thinks, should not be made haphazardly.

And so she turns to the only source she has for all things worship and seidr – Esme, who first taught Iza all she knows about the legends of their people.

* * *

**A/N: Ah, Alise always is a neat plot device. But look here! Some foreshadowing tucked into one of the previous chapters sees the light of day! More to come!**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**  
**~Rae**


	32. thirty two

**Thirty Two**

"You would like me to…Forgive me, Izabela, but I did not think you were…gifted in this way."

Iza suppresses a smile at the delicately-worded reproach. She understands the dubious tone in Esme's voice as, after all, Iza had never shown any aptitude for seidr as a child – and here she is, years after her formal schooling ended, asking about something she _still_ has no aptitude in. In truth, the only parts of Esme's lessons that Iza had ever retained as a child were those on writing, runes, and the legends of their people. Iza learned only what she could apply to her own life, and knowing that seidr was strangely out of her reach, she did not bother to remember anything beyond the basics of how someone else's seidr might affect her.

Iza thinks she must have been a frustrating student to have. She was certainly a baffling one, and continues to be if the expression of polite bemusement on Esme's face is anything by which to judge.

Iza repeats her request. "I would like to learn more about the seidr rituals that are involved in praying directly to the Norns."

"The…seidr rituals?"

"Yes."

"The rituals that would involve…seidr," Esme tries to clarify again.

Iza nods and crosses her arms over her chest. "Yes," she says again, and watches for the third time as Esme furrows her brows.

But Esme has always been a teacher at heart and in the end has no qualms with teaching Iza what she wants to know. Privately, Iza is sure that Esme agrees only because Carlisle is waiting for his own lesson, which Iza understands consists mostly of Carlisle and Esme comparing notes on which healing practices are more effective. Iza does not need a dragon's nose or a gossip's eyes to see that the two are growing quite friendly with each other. She does not see it as a problem. Esme is well-respected in the village, and as a widow she has more freedom than most in the ability to choose her partner – even if that partner happens to be a Saxon who had once been a slave. It helps, perhaps, that Esme is likely past the age where she can bear her own children. Still, Iza has no objection to the pairing should it indeed happen in the future.

She will not be the first to bring the topic up, however, and so keeps her tongue in cheek as she pays attention to Esme's diligent lesson.

Learning how to pray to the Norns with the use of seidr is not something Iza ever thought she would bother learning. After all, with no seidr of her own, learning such a ritual is beyond pointless.

However – now circumstances are different. Iza has a blood connection with a Norn, for one. Iza also has a connection with someone who possesses _powerful_ seidr, for two. And nothing Esme says makes her believe that _two_ people could not complete the prayer ritual to the Norns.

The only reason Iza is the one asking is because, as a man, this kind of information would never be disclosed to Edvard simply because men do not have seidr and would have no reasonable use for such knowledge.

Edvard, of course, is not most men.

Idly, Iza wonders how much Edvard might have benefited from the same lessons Iza eschewed as a child. Probably a lot. He is already so proficient that it is difficult to know how much more gifted he could have been with the right guidance, but Iza suspects that _all_ of Edvard's skills – be is sword or magic – have been hard-won. Perhaps that is why he is so skilled, though. There has never been anyone to cage Edvard's growth.

Iza makes careful note of each point in Esme's impromptu lecture, thanks her once-teacher for her time, and then leaves the little hut in the village to the sound of Carlisle and Esme's tentative greetings. Iza passes through the village as she usually does these days – quickly and without pause. Although it is midday, she returns to the Chieftain's longhouse to collect some tools, noting that her father is once again absent. Their stalemate is still ongoing, which Iza thinks is only natural – now that he is returned, the Chieftain is as busy as usual tending to the village affairs. Truly, Iza can only spare a single thought of her father, her mind much too occupied with other more pressing concerns.

By the time Iza finds herself at Edvard's new longhouse, the sun is high and the riders are engaged in some convoluted contest of skills as they balance on the backs of their dragons. Eko appears to be refereeing somehow, swooping between dragons and practicing the flare of her amber shield. Much to Iza's interest, Eko has managed to mimic both Leiptr's lightning and Kaldr's ice breath over the course of this training. She figures the reason Eko cannot mimic the stone-like quality of Steinn's scales is simply because of the nature of the scales – Eko seems only be able to copy the breath abilities of other dragons. Eko, for her part, is thrilled any time she finds a new ability. Iza is just glad there are not any repeats of when Eko was newly-hatched and disintegrating everything with her talons.

Iza watches the dragons and riders for a moment more, listening to the chirps and shouts and playful growls, and then turns decisively to the longhouse. Edvard is not in his yard and she knows it is too late in the day for him to be hunting, so he must be in his home. Sure enough, Edvard is tending to what appears to be dough for bread when she enters. The clumpy lump certainly does resemble some of the stale bread she has seen the dragons gnawing on.

"Are you trying to break a tooth?" she wonders aloud.

Edvard looks at her with a frown. "This is how Alise does it," he says.

Iza sincerely doubts that, because she has had bread baked by Alise and Edvard is almost certainly doing something wrong if he is intending to follow his sister's recipe. She huffs, puts down the tools they will need for the ritual, and shoos Edvard away so she can fix the mess he's made of the dough.

Edvard watches her, something fond in his gaze, and then asks her about what she learned from Esme. They talk and plan and determine that the best time to perform the ritual is as soon as possible. After all, they need answers before they can move any further along with this waiting game – if they can find answers, that is. There is no way to know if their ritual prayers will be answered or not.

The bread finishes baking long before it is time for the ritual, and so they separate to tend to other things. Iza mounts Eko, her dragon taking high, high to the sky, high enough that the heat of the summer becomes a thought of the past with Eko's speed making the wind cut soothingly cool against Iza's skin. From far above, she can see Edvard taking the others through the paces, correcting their weapons and their aims; this far away, she cannot hear them, but she can see the way Jakob leaps for joy and dances around Steinn after some accomplishment.

Iza cannot help but smile, small but unrestrained. She feels some hope, knowing that she can search in at least one more direction for answers.

Later, it is Eko who says, _I will keep the others away_. Iza watches as Eko corrals the other dragons into the darkening woods, the long-stretching shadows eating up the dragon scales until they disappear from view. With the sun nearly set, it is almost time for the ritual.

Iza hastens into Edvard's longhouse to gather the supplies. He is already there, checking over the tools with a steeling look in his eye, preparing himself for using his seidr in a way he never has before. Surely the both of them are out of their depths. All the same, they set off together into the forest, going in the opposite direction of the dragons.

Iza and Edvard had debated the best place for the ritual. Most prayers to the Gods were best conducted in the open air, so that the Gods may be unencumbered in their will to answer. There is a small circle of stones not far from the village proper where most prayers are made. However, that circle cannot be used by Iza and Edvard for obvious reasons.

Where should they perform the ritual, then? The seaside? The forest itself? Near to Edvard's home? In the end, the best place they could agree on that would meet all the requirements – quiet, open-air, secluded – winds up being the place where this whole journey began.

Iza and Edvard arrive to Eko's cave as the moon rises. Edvard looks about in interest. "Was it here?"

Iza nods. "Yes. Eko hatched just inside. She was very small – I could carry her in my arms."

"Hard to imagine," he comments.

And yes, given Eko's size now, which must surely be fully grown, it is difficult to imagine that she was ever so small. Would she have looked as small, she wonders, held in Edvard's more muscular arms? Even smaller?

Iza peers into the opening of the cave, and then at the surrounding area. "Inside or outside, do you think?"

Edvard considers this. "Would smoke be a problem?"

"I kept a kindling going for weeks for Eko without any issues."

Edvard hums. "But it could be cramped, should the prayer be answered."

"It is a small cave," Iza agrees. And Edvard himself is tall enough that she is not sure they would both fit comfortably in the cave in the first place. "Outside, then."

Edvard agrees and they set to creating a place to hold the ritual, smoothing out the dirt and flattening the ground and building a wide circle of stones placed a certain distance apart. Candles are placed on either side of the circle, just beside the stones, and an oblong wooden bowl in the middle. The bowl they fill with water, and then each of them provide blood from a shallow cut on their thumbs. Had either of them not have seidr, this sacrifice would have been an animal – but between them, with the blood they have and the magic Edvard possesses, they need only a few drops and a flare of bright green seidr for the water in the bowl to turn as black as the darkest ink.

Iza dips three apples into the bowl, then places them in a neat line. "We call upon the Norns, and beg to hear our prayers," she says solemnly. Beside her, Edvard repeats her words, and then anoints each of the apples with a basking of magic, thick enough that the apples begin to float, side by side by side.

"A path has opened, but a fork in the road has us waylaid," Iza continues. "We seek guidance on which steps we must take next. We beg of the Norns, wise in your knowledge of the past, present, and future, to show us the way forward."

"To the great Norns we make our offerings in return," Edvard murmurs. "Apples, like those Idunn grows, to fortify your bodies. A sacrifice of blood, so that you might have faith in our sincerity. Water bathed by magic, so that you might quench your thirst."

"Hear us, Norns, and grant us audience," they finish together.

After that, there is silence, with only the flicker of candlelight and the wind in the air betraying the stillness of the world around them. The kneel before this makeshift alter for some time – minutes, perhaps, or even hours that are caught between each minute rise of the moon as it climbs higher into the sky. Iza keeps her eyes locked on the floating apples, which is why she is the first to note that the second apple, right in the middle, drops onto the ground with a dull _thud_.

A palpable tension quickens the air, a pressure not unlike the way the air feels right before thunder claps – and then the apple burns, and turns to ash, and in the next moment a tall woman with eyes of gold and skin as dark as the starless sky appears in the center of the ritual circle.

Immediately, both Iza and Edvard drop their torsos down into deep bows, foreheads pressing against dirt. To look upon a Norn uninvited – well, Iza has written about that in her Eddas and knows better than to commit such a transgression.

The Norn speaks with something like mirth, but tinged with a bitterness of _knowing_. "Ah. Supplicating yourselves, children of Gods? For what purpose? Do you prostrate to your ancestors to gain permission to marry? There is no need. This match has been known since the emergence of the universe itself."

Iza presses her lips together and pointedly does not look in Edvard's direction. This is the second time in one week that _marriage_ has been mentioned to her and she cannot, for the life of her, fathom why anyone is so keen to rush this subtle courtship between herself and Edvard. Indeed, she does not think they are even _officially_ courting or in talks of marriage since Edvard has not spoken directly to the Chieftain. If anything, any wedding between Iza and Edvard would be an elopement.

But even still – _weddings_ and _marriage_ and _elopement_ are not the _point_ of this ritual.

Perhaps the Norn knows this, because she allows an entertained laugh and says, "You may raise your eyes, younglings. I would like to see you, blood of my blood."

Iza and Edvard comply, because that is what should be done when commanded by a God – by a being who is more than any God, but at the same time _less_.

The woman looks both familiar and unfamiliar to Iza. A face she has seen before, perhaps in her dreams, but it is not a face she knows. And she knows in an instant this this Norn is not Skuld.

The second apple dropped – so this must be Verdandi, the Norn of the present, the one who sees what will come as it comes, the one who played handmaid to Frigg and whispered in the Queen's ear.

Verdandi looks at Iza and Edvard, and then she smirks. "My, but you do look remarkably like your parents, young Haflings. As is natural, I suppose. Those eyes…Yes, unique, both of you."

Edvard meets her stare head-on. "Have you come to answer our prayer, mighty Norn?"

Verdandi raises a singular brow, and the darkness of her skin appears to glitter like stars. "Answer the prayer from a son of Loki? My, but not even a Lokison who shares not his father's ambitions will be granted my favor…" Verdandi looks then to Iza, and a slow, wide, dark smile spreads across her lips. "A daughter of my dear sister, a darling niece who shares my blood, however…Her prayer I have heard and it is her prayer I shall answer."

"I lack direction," Iza begins, but Verdandi is quick to cut her off.

"You lack conviction," says the Norn. "You know what you must do. You are prepared, but the waiting has made you anxious."

Iza lifts her chin, bold. "I prayed so that I might know when Nidhogg will attack-"

"No, that is not why you prayed!" Verdandi exclaims. "You would not waste a prayer on that which you already know – you forget, Skuldsdottir, that I know what is coming into being, and I knew the moment I heard your prayer what you were _truly_ praying to know!"

Iza presses her lips together, waiting. Beside her, Edvard's gaze is unflinchingly forward, the steady glow of his magic imbued in the ritual circle.

Verdandi drops into a smooth crouch, the golden sheen of her dress spilling over her lap as smoothly as water over stone. She reaches forward, as if to cup Iza's chin, but stops just short of touching her. Iza is glad – to have been touched by Thor's lightning was painful enough, she cannot imagine what it would be like to be touched by a Norn, or what kind of mark that might leave on her skin. "You want to know why Nidhogg must be your problem," Verdandi whispers, almost sweetly. "Why cannot the glorious, powerful Gods in your Eddas not defeat this creature? Why cannot they intervene? Why is it up to you, a mere Halfling, to make a change? Am I wrong?"

Iza does not answer, because Verdandi already knows she is right.

"You are a Changemaker because the Gods cannot interfere directly with their own fate – yet through you, they can interfere indirectly. Nidhogg is chained by his own power and avoids his destiny, as is his wont as a fell creature. Only Skuldsdottir can make the change to break the chains of Nidhogg, and herald the Twilight of the Gods. That is your role, Halfling, and that is what you must do. No other can do the same – and indeed, your birthright is one that not even you can avoid."

Iza frowns, shaking her head as she stares at Verdandi. The Gods cannot interfere directly, but only indirectly? She has to break the chains of Nidhogg? The Twilight of the Gods – why does that sound familiar, even though she knows she has never heard the phrase before?

Something dances on her skin, a ripple of gooseflesh, and Verdandi smiles that strange smile again. "You will know when the time comes," she says, belatedly sparing an amused glance to Edvard, who watches all with a clench in his jaw. "Both of you."

Verdandi stands, her golden dress swishing around bare toes, and clasps her elegant hands together. "All has already been woven into the roots of Ygdrassil," she tells them seriously. "All you must do is play the roles that have been given to you."

And with that – quite without any warning – Verdandi disappears. In her wake she leaves two melted candles, three ash-charred apples, a broken wooden bowl spilling blackened blood across the dirt, and two baffled Halflings, who can only stare at each other in wonder.

Their prayer was answered, but the answer has only left more questions – at least for Iza, whose mind is now fixated on the riddles in which Verdandi spoke.

Edvard quietly takes Iza's hand and she nods, tangling their fingers together as they rise. He presses a lingering kiss to her brow and she closes her eyes, tired yet invigorated, confused yet full of clarity, overwhelmed yet wholly underwhelmed.

_At least_, she thinks_, the ritual actually worked_.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so knowing that the Norse were pagans, their rituals _definitely_ involved some kind of animal sacrifice and also sex - but since I'm trying to keep this PG and I have no intentions of writing about animal sacrifice, I took a bit of artistic license here. Blood sacrifice is a lot less _urhggg_, right?**

**Norse Things This Chapter! Verdandi was the Norn who was in charge of "what is coming into being", so essentially the Norn of the Present. Whether or not she whispered in Frigg's ear I have no clue, but it would make sense. Like the other Norns, there isn't a whole lot known about Verdandi. You could argue that she was the Head Bitch In Charge, since someone who knows what is coming into being would know both the past and the present, and I actually think some literature reflects that. But overall she was a mysterious figure in Norse Myth, alongside Urd, who was the Norse in charge of the past. Of all the Norns, we know the most about Skuld for some reason. Lots of information about Norse Mythology was lost from damage to the Eddas and other historical documents, so there is _a lot_ open to interpretation about the seldom mentioned figures like Verdandi.**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	33. thirty three

**Thirty Three**

After all that Verdandi said, Iza says she is sure of only one thing – the Gods, for whatever reason, are incapable of acting.

"They have done what they could," she tells him that night as they clean up the make-shift ritual circle they built in front of the cave. Edvard hums in acknowledgement, listening intently as Iza continues. "Loki had a son and Skuld had a daughter, who was Thor-touched by lightning. Frigg speaks to us through Alise. Even the Norns answer our call…."

Edvard watches as Iza cranes her neck back, looking up at the heavy swell of the moon rising over the fjords. Basked in silver moonlight, she seems ethereal, a being not of this world. In a way, he supposes that she is. They both are.

"The Gods have done what they can," Iza repeats, a soft murmur that is carried to his ears by a gentle salt-and-smoke breeze. "And so the rest must fall onto those who are already playing their roles, both knowingly and unknowingly."

And, as for as Edvard can determine, for Iza that means staying vigilant to even the scantest whisper of a dragon attack. She institutes paroles among the riders, who are by now bonded well enough with their riders to be unsupervised. She often trails through the woods or stares up at the mountain where Nidhogg resides. She makes a habit of speaking to Alise about the possibility of attack so frequently that even Alise looks exasperated by it all.

But Edvard understands that intensity – the pressure that is on them, the pressure Verdandi spoke of through her riddling words, is one that is great. It is not any wonder, then, that Edvard takes to his vigilance in another way. Iza preoccupies herself with the dragons; Edvard preoccupies himself with the village.

He is, admittedly, in a good position to do so. After all, what training must Edvard do? He has long since mastered his seidr under Loki's impenetrable scrutiny and he has no dragon to familiarize himself with. Edvard has the time to gain knowledge of other things.

Foremost in his mind is why it took so long for the Raiders to return. Usually, the Raiders depart until mid-summer, where they return home with spoils and tales and are ready to help tend to the growing fields with the rest of the village. And yet, the Raiders did not return until the tail-end of summer. Why?

By Edvard's reckoning, the Raiders came home in good spirits, which indicates that they have been successful and had not run into any trouble. Indeed, even the haul of their spoils is much the same as it is any other year. On the surface, there does not seem to be much cause for why it took so long to return.

Edvard is convinced there is a reason, and so he investigates in his own way.

In the end, it does not take more than a few well-matched mugs of heady, sweet ale to have the Raiders talking. In the Great Hall during the evening meal, Edvard listens to the men speaking about the long, long journey the Chieftain and the Raiders had been on. "We found fertile land, unclaimed by any others," says one of the Raiders. He is answered by boisterous cheers and ale-drunk cajoling before he continues. "The land is unlike any I have seen before! Green! So much green, with rolling hills and great, vast flat lands, and lakes clear enough to see straight through-"

"Hot lakes, as well! Springs of heated water, even in the summer!"

"There were many animals – we did not go hungry as we explored-"

"And we did explore! The Chieftain was keen on this land! Yes, he was keen!"

"Said the land was untouched, he did. And aye, he was right! Not a house or a woman in sight!"

"We docked there, we did, for weeks and weeks until we were satisfied by what the land had to offer," says another. "And then we got on our boats to sail more, and what would you know? We found more land!"

"Aye!" agrees his friend, raising his bushy eyebrows as he continues. "Aye, but this land was not like the first. Cold, full of ice and snow!"

"Nearly as north as the first land, but the chill of this land – not even the fallow winter was so cold."

"Everything was frozen over! It was as if standing in Jotunheim itself!"

"Interesting," Edvard comments. "What then? Did you stay for as long?"

"Stay in that frozen wasteland! By Hel, no we did not! Why, we returned back to the first land to recover from the shock!"

One of the Raiders, perhaps less drunk than the others, leans forward with a conspiratorial whisper. "Aye, but our Chieftain is a crafty man. This was early in our journey, mind you, so we knew enough to know what to tell other Raiders we came across. Why, we spread a tale about a land as green as the gardens in Asgard itself – only we did not give them directions to the land of green, but to the land of ice!"

"And in fact, we did keep the way to this land of spring to ourselves. We made a map and only we know the way to find it."

Another raider laughs. "The Chieftain is clever, he is! He said, _we must pray to Loki for some trickery_, and aye we did! We did pray, and then what did you know? We came up for a name for these lands!"

"Greenland, for the land of ice!" says one Raider around a boisterous laugh. "And Iceland, for the land of green! And then we gave way for only Greenland, so that Iceland can be our own isle of spring!"

"Hail Loki, for the idea!"

"Praise the Chieftain, for his cunning!"

Another round of ale follows, and Edvard sits back thoughtfully. A new land? He wonders if finding it was an accident, or if perhaps Loki had a hand in it. Knowing what he does about how the Gods seem to be interfering indirectly with the present fate, he would not be surprised to learn that his father, for whatever reason, guided the Raiders to this new fertile land just as he guided the Raiders to misnaming the land.

Edvard thinks it is somewhat suspicions than a man as blunt as the Chieftain would come up with something so crafty by himself. To be so misleading is something the Chieftain would feel is without honor.

Loki, however, has a different sort of honor. Edvard would not be surprised if, for a while, the Chieftain had been replaced by the trickster himself, just long enough to sow this bit of trickery about the land. In fact, it seems like something only Loki could come up with.

He says as much to Iza, much later when she is bent over her Eddas in the light of a candle, still searching for hints and clues. She looks up at him then, the dual-tone of her eyes catching him off-guard in their keenness, as they always do. Iza tucks loose hair behind her ear, pouts her lips together, and then sighs.

"Iceland and Greenland, but Iceland is green and Greenland is ice? Yes, that does sound like Loki," she agrees. She frowns. "But…why? Loki does nothing without a reason."

Yes, that much Edvard knows. Still, he shrugs. His father's motivations have always been well beyond his comprehension. Edvard is not wholly convinced his father is not insane, even if he is a God.

"Unless…"

Edvard looks at Iza's striken expression and leans forward, cupping her chin so that her beloved gaze will look upon him instead of whatever internal turmoil her thoughts have led her to. "Unless what?"

"Unless this is the Gods indirectly interfering again," she says slowly. "Unless this is meant to secure a haven for us, should something with Nidhogg go terribly, catastrophically bad…Unless this so-called Iceland is meant to be our saving grace from whatever happens next…"

A shiver lances down Edvard's spine.

His Izabela is intelligent. She has an agile mind that is quick to draw conclusions and quicker still to think of things that no one else would consider. And even more, she shares the blood of a Norn who resides over the future and thus possesses a type of instinct that cannot be named.

If she has reached such a conclusion, then Edvard can only see her wisdom and agree. Although it may be conjecture, the sheer fact that this is possibly true is enough to give Edvard a healthy dose of wariness, the likes of which he has never felt before.

Before, battle with the dragons and unchaining Nidhogg, whatever that might mean, has been a nebulous thought. It would happen and it would be violent, but it was not something he considered as urgent or even particularly dangerous. To his mind, there is no reason why they would not be the victors and then be able to return to their normal lives, with the exception of his courting of Iza.

But if securing new land, if finding a new place to live, is indeed the work of a helping hand from the Gods, then that could only mean that their home is in far graver jeopardy then he ever imagined.

Edvard takes Iza's small, delicate hand into his own, then raises her palm to his lips, heedless of the ink smeared across her fingertips. He meets her gaze as he kisses her palm twice, eager for the tense pinch of her brows to relax, if even for a moment. "I will find out more about this Iceland," he vows. "And then we can plan for this possibility, too."

Relief washes over Iza's pretty features, and internally Edvard makes another oath. _I will help ease your burden as much as I can, my beloved._

* * *

**A/N: Ah, I figured Edvard needed to talk about some things. He's so cute with his loyalty and his leeriness of Loki! Just adorable.**

**Viking Things This Chapter! YES! The Vikings were in fact responsible for that sly mix-up between Iceland and Greenland. Now, in the real world, the first people to find Iceland actually settled there _and then_ sent word back to Norway to mislead others. As to who is specifically responsible for this bit of mischief? Some say Lief Erikson, some say random Vikings, some say the story is just that - a story. For _this_ story, I'm going with Loki definitely body-swapped the Chieftain for just long enough to create some mass confusion and secure this nice piece of land for his son and his bride. Nice, huh? What a thoughtful father!**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae **


	34. thirty four

**Thirty Four**

Some of the Viking Raiders talk about a calm before the storm, how the ocean sort of _stills_ and the sky is clear and the wind is quiet – and then how that quiet is shattered by violent waves and thundering clouds and shrieking winds. Even the fishermen share similar tales, even those who do not dare fish too far into the deeps.

Iza has known calms before storms, as well. Times when she grew close to others her age, only for a misstep to have backs turning against her. Times when she thought that perhaps the Elders would be agreeable, only to find they have waylaid and disrespected her once again. Times when she thought all was well, only for all to go wrong.

The night she was struck down by Thor's hammer comes to mind.

So, when she wakes one morning to utter peace, her heart launches itself into her throat and her mind clouds with thoughts of calamity. _It is too quiet_, she thinks. Too quiet, too calm, to predictable. This sense of security is a false one – she can feel it as sure as she can feel her own bones.

And then there is knocking on the door, rousing the Chieftain from his slumber and making Iza quickly rub the sleep from her eyes. Iza opens the door to Alise's wide, vacant-eyed face and, with the Chieftain standing over her shoulder looking on with his own bewilderment, Iza asks, "What did you see?"

Alise, still dressed in her sleep tunic, sways on her feet as she answers. "Boats."

"What about boats, Alise?"

There is a flicker in Alise's dull gaze as her eyes focus somewhere on Iza's face. "Everyone needs to be on boats. Evacuate. Children, women, the sick, the old, the ones who cannot fight…Boats. The village must be on boats. Boats…"

Iza inhales sharply. "Then…it is happening."

"Boats," Alise repeats, a whisper, hardly even a word.

But Iza hears it and she knows that Alise has seen what must be done – that in fact, someone else has shown Alise what must happen if they are to survive the day. And so Iza turns to her father, looking up at the Chieftain expectantly, as if asking, _Will you do it, or shall I_?

And to his credit, although he grumbles and frowns, the Chieftain knows that Alise often sees that which is yet to come. He nods and tells Iza to deliver his order. "Evacuate the village," he says. Beneath his beard, she can see the grimace forming on his face. "The women, the children, the old and sick. Everyone who cannot fight, as Alise said. Tell them…tell them to take what they cannot live without."

"Yes," Iza agrees readily.

"I will gather those who can fight," he says decisively. And then he pauses, looking Iza over with something _lost_ in his expression before he adds, "And we will follow your direction."

Iza feels the weight of that promise like a boulder on her back.

She does not falter.

Her feet carry her through the village, rushing from door to door as she explains – breathless and anxious and thrumming with anticipation – that the Chieftain has ordered an evacuation. Take what you can, she says. Take what you will need, she says. Take what will help you survive, she says. And all the while, she keeps tabs on Eko, who has gone to the dragons to rally them, to prepare them for what is to come.

_We are ready_, Eko says reassuringly.

Iza can only hope that is true.

By the time she finds them in the mass of the village frantically gathering their belongings, preparing to escape, the riders are already in the process of preparing themselves for the oncoming battle. Róża has managed to find some heavy leather armor that is snug enough to fit over her torso and her arms, but she is much less protected than Emebor, Jaspar, and Jakob, who are all decked in some assortment of metal chain with additional leather plating. It is much more than Iza has, which is only the tunic she slept in and windswept hair.

For all her talk of impending battles and training, she had not spared a second thought about _armor_. She is glad to see that the others have, even if it leaves her bereft. However, she does not have the time to resign herself to being without armored protection, as Róża is quick to grasp Iza's wrist, dragging her to a vaguely private space between two buildings, where she then shoves pitch-black leather armor into Iza's arms.

"Edvard had it commissioned," Róża says by way of explanation. "It is Jakob's work, so if it does not fit, complain to him."

The leather armor does fit, not perfectly but close enough that none of it risks slipping off. Róża assists in the armbraces on her forearms, which are strapped on with the same iron-wrought buckles that hold the rest of the armor over her chest and hips. While she helps, Róża is quick to fill Iza in on certain worries she has overlooked – apparently, Alise and Carlisle have already made it onto the boats, escorted by Edvard while Iza was spreading the word of evacuation. Iza nods, silently glad, and moves to pull on the next piece of armor. Iza is pleasantly surprised to find that there is even a skirt made of leather straps that is much more elaborate than the split-seamed brown leather dress Róża wears. Iza wonders when Jakob had the time to fashion any of this, and thinks that maybe Wilhelm helped more than a little.

She is grateful to have it, and says as much when the girls return to the other riders, who are now surrounded by their respective dragons and Edvard. Upon seeing her, Eko is quick to circle around Iza protectively, her tail lashing as her dual-toned eyes glare up at the mountain. Iza follows her dragon's gaze and sees what has caught Eko's attention.

The entire face of the mountain is crawling with dragons. And even from a distance, Iza can see that an awfully, terribly, horrifically large dragon is perching himself on the highest peak – a king sitting on a throne he has stolen.

It makes Iza angry, knowing that Dagmar is still injured, still recovering, still trapped in that mountain under Nidhogg's iron claw.

It makes her livid, knowing that her people, her village, must evacuate their _home_ because Nidhogg would have them all burn for no other reason than his own malice.

And it makes her determined, because as she looks up at that terrible tyrannical dragon, she _knows_ how she is meant to break his chains. Not kill Nidhogg – no, that is a pleasure that the Gods will enjoy. All Iza needs to do is evict him from his stolen throne and cut his ties to the dragons under his thrall – because when those dragons are free, she _knows_ they will turn on their once-master and force him to flee. She knows it as well as she knows her own names – and Iza, Skuldsdottir, and Changemaker are all in agreement of what must be done.

Iza looks up at Edvard. "Will you ride with me?"

Edvard dips his head in agreement, his entire body poised for battle.

Emebor, naturally, is the first to speak up. "What of the rest of us?"

Iza's eyes rove over the riders, her ears tuned to the rushing of the villager as they hasten to get themselves onto boats. To the riders, she says, "I have a few ideas. But first, we need to speak with the Chieftain."

They find the Chieftain coordinating evacuation efforts near the Great Hall, where he is arguing with one of the more stubborn Elders. They arrive just in time to hear her father say, "If you want to be an idiot yourself, then so be it, and I hope that you burn as painfully as each headache you give me. But for the rest of us, we will be wise and know to save ourselves. Get on a boat or do not, I cannot be bothered to care!"

Jaspar whistles low in appreciation, and Emebor nudges his ribs with an elbow with a wide grin.

With their fool-headed leader cut down, the people who stood shakily beside the Elder and who pale at the sight of the riders and dragons, are quick to rush toward the docks, weighed down with their own bundles of food and clothing. The miserly Elder turns his nose up at them all, glares at the Chieftain, and stubbornly disappears into the Great Hall, the heavy doors slamming behind him.

The Chieftain rubs his face, rolls his eyes, and then greets his daughter with some strain. "Those who can fight are gathering near the forge, collecting any additional weapons they can find," he tells her.

"Then we will wait," she replies. Iza turns her eye to the rapidly quieting village and looks toward the docks, where dozens are clamoring onto all the boats that are available. She thinks the boats may be overloaded, but they should be able to get far enough, given the right help.

Iza turns to Eko. _Those boats need to be in the deep waters before the battle begins._

_I understand_, Eko says. She chitters at the other dragons and then, as one, the small group take to the skies toward the docks.

"What are they doing?" Jakob asks in confusion.

Iza lifts her chin, not even bothering to look away from where the dragons are pushing or pulling the boats through the fjords and toward the ocean – either by tooth or claw or, in Kaldr's case, great sheets of ice that rock the longboats forward in surges. "Helping," she says simply.

Around them, the village is quiet, except for the nearing sounds of whatever remaining warriors have decided to stay. When they return from the forge, all the Raiders look to the Chieftain for guidance on what to do next, but the Chieftain only presses his lips together, steps back, and says, "Izabela is our strategist."

His declaration is met with some feeble protest, which is buffered by the way two of the youngest, most promising warriors in the village do not drift from Iza's side. In particular, Edvard's unwavering support and the fierce glare he delivers is enough to shut more than one mouth.

"Aye, then what do we do?"

Calm settles over Iza's skin. She opens her mouth, surety in every syllable that passes her lips. "This will be the best arrangement…"

* * *

**A/N: I'm breaking the battle up into two chapters. There was a big hint about the next chapter in this one, but it's okay if you didn't catch it! Now, with the village evacuated, all important people accounted for, and everyone willing to follow Iza's order...Let's see what happens next!**

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	35. thirty five

**Thirty Five**

This is how the reign of Nidhogg ends -

Sometimes, looking back, it seems like Iza and Edvard have been talking more months, planning and strategizing and predicting. They have explored all the possibilities in the way things can go, including all the ways things can go wrong. They have discussed ways to minimize the damage, to protect the land and the villagers, to get through the upcoming battle unscathed. Until now, all of their talking has been nothing more than conjecture.

The time for conjecture is over.

Róża and Kaldr are sent to the space just between the fjords and the larger ocean. Being connected to water, it only makes sense to give Kaldr the biggest advantage possible with a large body of water that can be manipulated and frozen. Róża and Kaldr will be part of the final line of defense for the villagers evacuated in the boats, and they will also be responsible for putting out any blazes from the incoming dragons.

Steinn and Jakob are instructed to cover the area between the village and the docks. Steinn is large enough to be a deterrent for other dragons and strong enough to take down any who come his way. The stone-like quality of his scales and Jakob's accuracy with his slingshot allow for a flexible defense that will allow the pair to help the remaining warriors in the village from the skies. If necessary, Steinn and Jakob will also be able to assist Róża and Kaldr.

Jasper and Emebor have more challenging tasks. With Leiptr's speed and Dyngju's aggression, they are ideally fitted for herding any incoming dragons around. In particular, Jaspar and Leiptr seem keen on guiding dragons right into Emebor and Dyngju's direction like a trap. Jaspar is cunning enough for the trickery and Emebor is ruthless enough when he wants to be that she almost feels pity for the incoming dragons.

The Chieftain and the Raiders will be scattered throughout the town in whatever place gives them the best advantage. She can see some warriors clambering to the tops of longhouses, while others seek higher areas. Some of the clever ones talk about using the livestock as bait to lure dragons in. The Chieftain, for his part, stations himself near the center of the village, right around the areas that have seen the worst damage from previous battles.

Iza, Eko, and Edvard have a vastly different role. While everyone else is set on defense as it comes – with the strict instructions to not kill any of the dragons if possible, on the chance that they are as innocent as Iza believes – the remaining three have a different goal.

It has long been decided that although Edvard will not have his own dragon, he will be riding with Iza for a significant portion. This is for two reasons – the first is that the need to keep Edvard's seidr secret is very real, and the second is that Iza anticipates needing additional support. She does not know how exactly she is meant to break Nidhogg's chains, but she suspects that the process will leave her vulnerable, and there is no way that Eko can protect both of them by herself. After all, they are planning to fight Nidhogg head to head. Although Nidhogg must be very strong, Eko is herself a special dragon and Edvard is the son of the greatest wielder of magic ever born. Iza need only rely on them to keep Nidhogg occupied while she figures out how to get rid of the tyrannical dragon.

This is the plan. By all rights, it is a good plan and covers every line of defense. Iza is confident that, if everyone manages to hold the line, it will work just as she anticipates. Even Edvard is certain, the strategist in him unable to see any particular weak points.

Yet even as the directions are given and they all mount the dragons and spread out to their designated areas, Iza feels her hands go a little numb. It is a good plan, but is it good enough? Will it work? She does not know and with Alise sitting in a boat on the ocean, she does not have anyone to ask. Not even her odd instincts are giving her any clue.

Belatedly, Iza realizes she is nervous. She has not been nervous for a long time. She has not needed to be nervous lately – her strange intuition has quelled any anxiety.

Today that intuition is absent. Or perhaps her anticipation is too great that she cannot feel her own intuition.

Iza tries very hard not to think of disaster and tragedy as she mounts Eko's back, Edvard climbing after her to bracket her back with his strong chest. Between the two of them, they have two bows, a replenishing quiver, a series of throwing knives, and Edvard's longsword. With Eko, they are armed with the abilities of half a dozen dragons. They should be fine. If anything, their group of three is better prepared than anyone else. After all, they also have Edvard's seidr on their side – and as hidden, as secretive as this weapon may be, she knows that Edvard will not hesitate to use it when the need arises. This is, after all, another reason why they decided that Edvard would ride with her. Should he need to use his magic, it is better to use it as far away from the others as possible. Gods willing, if any of them see Edvard's bright green magic, they will chalk it up to Eko and another of her surprising talents. Because dragon battle or not, Edvard does not need to reveal his seidr until he wants to – _if_ he ever wants to.

"We are ready," Edvard murmurs into her ear. He carefully arranges their weapons to be in the easiest reach, giving them both the most flexibility possible, and then he settles his arms snugly around her waist.

Iza smooths her hands over the strong forearms locked around her hips, taking in the scars and callouses on his hands as she breathes in deeply, then releases a slow exhale. "I know," she says back to him, and she feels it in her bones how much she trusts him to keep her together while she muddles through whatever it is she needs to do on this most important of days.

With Edvard at her back, she cannot fathom failing and she cannot fathom falling. He will catch her and support her, wherever they land and however this ends. She basks in this confidence, in this complete trust in another person, allowing herself this last moment before the chaos begins.

Iza sets her eyes on the mountain, which rumbles in the distance, a fine trail of black smoke rising from the peak as dragons lurch from the rock, circling and circling as they wait. Iza pats her hand down the side of Eko's neck, the smooth iridescent black scales warm beneath her palm. _Fly when you are ready._

_Of course_, Eko returns, serene and confident even as their bond buzzes in anticipation. Eko's wings flap twice, a slow, barely restrained movement as the others scatter to their designated areas. Eko's tail lashes once, her two-toned eyes settled on the highest peak – and then she launches into the air, graceful and powerful and strong, a streak of black in the early morning light cresting high over the tops of trees –

And that is how the battle begins.

At first, there are too many dragons to count. It reminds her of crows when they are in the sky, all converging on one spot, all moving in one mass – only the dragons are massive and ferocious and move with an intent that means all Eko can do is dodge and block. This is the plan, after all. Although they may be going into the depths of it, they never had any intention of facing _these_ dragons in a fight. No, that honor goes to the riders, who will keep these dragons busy until Nidhogg is taken care of.

Eko twirls around dragons, spinning sideways and banking sharply, and it is all Iza and Edvard can do to hold on. Edvard has his sword drawn, allowing the blade to graze the scales of any dragons that come too close, a trail of green seidr clipping along the cut and making scales fester in its wake. Iza focuses on keeping her balance, knowing that Edvard is relying on her to keep them both seated as Eko manuvers in airborn acrobatics.

Just when it seems like the cluster of dragons would never end, there is a sudden break – and they are nearer to the mountain than they are to the village, with only a handful of glaze-eyed dragons standing between them and the peak where Nidhogg sits. At the same time, Iza and Edvard reach for their bows; Iza aims for the tender place beneath wings, relying on immobilization, while Edvard laces his arrows with seidr, effectively knocking back and stunning the dragons he hits.

Eko swerves around the dragons, opening her maw to release all manner of breath – fire and lava, ice and electricity, a sonorous roar that leaves dragon wings trembling. When a dragon releases its own breath in retaliation, Eko is quick to erect her amber shield, buffering the attack away. One time, she even manages to absorb a new power, and returns a howling gust of wind so strong the pale dragon that attacked them is thrown through the forest, taking down several trees. That dragon does not get up again, and neither do many others.

Together, Eko and Edvard are a lethal combination. It is all Iza can do to help bait dragons with her arrows, drawing them in out of sheer annoyance from the way her arrows sink deep into scaled hide. Once close enough, either of her companions disarm or otherwise injure the dragon, continuing to clear a path to the mountains.

Eko chirrups triumphantly when the last of the dragons between them and the mountain have dropped to the forest below. _This is only the first battle_, Iza cautions her dragon, sweat on her skin and her limbs shaking from adrenalin. She is not made for fighting, she knows. It simply is not her nature. Still, she must forge on. _We still have the war_.

_But at least we have won this battle,_ Eko is quick to reply. _And the others are winning theirs._

Indeed, if Iza were in the village, she would see a scene of bloodthirsty chaos, a place of battle cries and spilt blood as human and dragon collide. But she would also see that the tides are in their favor – their strategy is working. She would see Jaspar and Leiptr chasing down dragons who flee, she would see Dyngju and Emebor ruthlessly cutting down those in their path, she would see Jakob and Stein swooping between Raiders to bodily thrash attacking dragons, and she would see the wall of ocean-ice Kaldr and Róża have built as a barrier between the fjords and the villagers on the boats. If Iza were in the village, she would see first the shock and then the pride on her father's face as the fruits of her labor bloom. She would see bloodshed, but she would also see a fair fight. She would see a hard-won victory, a historical battle in the making. She would see and she would _know_.

But Iza is not in the village. She is at the mountain, astride her bonded dragon with the love of her life at her back, and she is glaring up at Nidhogg, silently daring him to come from his peak.

Nidhogg obliges, and malice strikes as bitterly as ice through the air.

She had not understood before how Nidhogg could so gravely injure a dragon as impressive as Dagmar, how he could blind her and make her cower and have her hide away. She thought the malice in his name was only there for the cruelty of his nature. She did not think that Nidhogg's malice would be palpable – but it is, a tangible weight in the air, a great crushing pressure and a thunderous sound that makes the ears pop and a piercing, razor-thin shriek from between great teeth that is as blinding as it is destructive.

Nidhogg's malice is something that strikes against all the senses at once, unforgiving and unforgiveable.

It is a magic unlike any she has seen before. Not even the surprise of Edvard's seidr can measure up to the sheer unbelievability of Nidhogg's ability.

It is a miracle and nothing more that the combination of Eko and Edvard's magical shields are enough to protect them from the onslaught, which indeed blackens everything that crosses its path. This malice – it is a physical thing, something which steals the life and joy and light out of everything. It is fear and death in a corporeal form. It is enough to blind, to inspire meekness and cowardice, to destroy everything it touches.

Eko's shield flickers, the flap of her steady wings stalling for long enough that they dip in the air. Iza touches Eko's neck and Eko rallies her energy, but internally Eko says, _I cannot withstand another attack like that. He is too strong. _

Iza can only agree. Eko knows her strength better than Iza, and if Eko says that she cannot create another shield strong enough then Iza can only believe her.

Wrapped around her back, Edvard heaves out a huge breath. "That was strong," he says, voice close to her ear and just loud enough that she can hear him over the rush of wind that comes with Eko's evasive flying.

"Too strong?" Iza shouts back, but she already knows the answer. For all that Edvard is Lokison, he is still only half a God – and not even the Gods are ready for Nidhogg. Even if Eko, Edvard is no even match for the Malice Striker.

And Iza, who is a Halfling with no tangible magic, is not a match at all.

Iza tucks further between Eko's wing, making the distribution of weight easier for her dragon to out-fly Nidhogg, who stays resolute on his mountain peak, and feels a brief, terrible moment of utter despair.

Iza has no seidr. She has no magical ability aside from _instinct_. And yet, she is the Changemaker and she is tasked with breaking Nidhogg's chains. Chains that, from what she can see, have to be metaphorical considering she sees nothing physically chaining Nidhogg to the mountain he has stolen.

How is she meant to do _anything_, when not even her closest allies are strong enough to withstand more than one direct attack from Nidhogg, who does not seem to have even reached the tip of his own power? With so much weight on her shoulders, Iza gives in to this moment of discouragement – it is all that she can do to trust Eko to keep them afloat and Edvard to protect her back so she can just _think_.

There has to be something. There is always something.

Bidden, her mind stretches back – back – back to when this all began. Back to a different dragon battle on a dark, cold, stormy night. Back before she came across a mother who had sacrificed her life to protect her egg. Back before she stumbled through the downpour with only lightning to illuminate her way. Back to when she was inundated with a tremendous, blinding, nerve-racking sort of pain unlike any she has ever felt – back to when she was writhing on the muddy ground and staring up at the storming sky and wondering how she is alive. Back to that moment where all of her muscles were seizing and her skin was burning and the only thought in her mind was how to expand her lungs just enough to take another breath.

Back to the moment when Thor struck her with his mighty hammer and the lightning thundered through her body and left a wicked scar on her chest. A scar which, now that she is paying attention to it, aches keenly.

Strangely, the realization that follows this remembrance is dull – as if it is something she has always known but had merely forgotten about temporarily.

True, Iza does not have her own seidr and she is not like Edvard who can call magic so easily to his fingers. But that does not mean that Iza has _no magic at all_. In fact, she has been carrying a certain kind of magic in her blood since she was conceived – and in the recent months, she has been carrying a different kind of magic with her, a new burden that she had not paid any attention to. A magic that she can see writ plainly on her skin.

The mark of Thor is not simply a scar, after all.

But the problem is that Iza has no way of accessing that power. It is in her skin, but she cannot grasp it herself. For all that she carries this magic, she might as well not even have hands for all the good it does her.

Yet – Iza does not need to touch the magic herself. No, even if she could, hers would be a clumsy attempt that could only lead to disaster. And this is a type of magic that only has a one-time use. There can be no error, and that means that someone else has to take this magic from her and help her use it.

_Circle to his blind side for a cover_, she tells Eko, settling herself more firmly between wings. Eko responds immediately, banking to the side right into a vertical nose dive just behind one of Nidhogg's great wings. Such a large dragon of course has many blind spots, but none must be more evident than the ones behind his own tail. Eko finds refuge near one of the lower peaks, just out of a line of sight that will last for only a few short moments before Nidhogg wizens up.

"Iza? Eko? Why are we here?" Edvard demands lowly. He cranes his neck around, surely searching for their massive quarry, but Iza is quick to grasp his hands, twisted around on Eko's back just enough to see his strong profile.

"I need your help," she says quickly.

"Anything," he says, as she knew he would.

Iza takes Edvard's hands and slides them both to her chest, just beneath her collarbones where the scar over her heart begins to spindle away into thin lines. His hands are hot on her skin and rough from callouses, but she only presses his palms closer to her scars. "Do you feel that?" she asks. "Can you feel anything? There is something there, but I cannot reach it – but you can, right? You feel what Thor left behind?"

Edvard is tense first, unsure about so much sudden contact with an area that is nearly intimate, but then he relaxes into Iza's forceful hold. He puts more pressure on her skin, long fingers spreading over the top of her chest, his brow furrowed in concentration. A weak glow of his own green magic spreads over her skin, and then Edvard inhales sharply. "This is…"

"This is how we break the chain," she tells him, a confirmation. "But I cannot do it alone. I cannot touch this magic."

"I can," Edvard says, his mind already catching up. "I can extract it, help you direct it."

"We just have to get close enough," Iza agrees.

_Leave that to me_, Eko says confidently, wings already flapping with great power. Eko's dual-toned eyes are sharp as she rises high, high into the air, far above where Nidhogg's claws are dug deep into the mountain.

By the time Eko deems herself high enough and is circling, waiting for the opportunity to dive, Iza has drawn an arrow on Loki's bow. Around her grip, steadying her aim, are Edvard's scarred hands, which are now alight with a violent swirl of vibrant green and a crackling, stinging blue that he leaches from her skin – Thor's magic, which had been well-hidden in her scar, now extracted and imbued in the only weapon that could possibly withstand a God's full power.

They only have one shot –

Eko abruptly drops into a steep dive, her course unerringly targeted straight at Nidhogg, who snarls and growls and stretches his wings out, an awful cloud of dark miasma building in the maw of his mouth –

They only have one shot –

Iza shifts onto her knees and Edvard follows, his strength supporting them both against the wind as the magic he juggles grows brighter, stronger, more turbulent –

They only have one shot –

Eko screeches, answering Nidhogg's aggression with her own, a brilliant mixture of all the abilities she has borrowed coalescing between her teeth, which she releases with a spark of fire and lightning and ice and molten heat –

They only have one shot –

Iza pulls back another inch on the arrow, watching as the flint-tip is bathed in the full might of the magic stored in her body as well as Edvard's own –

They only have one shot -

Eko's power meets Nidhogg's right in the middle with a thunderous explosion that booms through the air, elements and darkness clashing against each other – and right in the middle, a small opening, just enough room –

They only have one shot – and when Iza loosens the arrow, she aims it directly for Nidhogg's eye.

The arrow imbued with magic sinks deep into a slittled black pupil, destroying the eye so totally that Nidhogg slips right off his mountain peak. An eye for two eyes, and Nidhogg's bloody rein ends with a rage-filled shriek, a great tumble, a desecrated eye with magic that ravages half of Nidhogg's face right to the bone.

Eko swings around, circling wider now as they all watch the morbid stillness of Nidhogg's body at the base of the mountain. Iza holds her breath tight in her lungs, but she already knows that the single arrow was not enough to _kill_ Nidhogg – just like she has known that killing Nidhogg was never her objective.

The arrow and the injury are enough, however, to break Nidhogg's chains. Or rather, to shatter the bonds represented by the chains completely. Because as soon as Nidhogg falls, several strings of black miasma emerge from his body and dissipate in the air – and from far away, a cry of dozens of dragons finally freed can be heard – and then it is not long at all until the newly-freed dragons turn their anger on their once-tyrant. A hoard of free-thinking dragons arrive, returning from the village now that their minds are their own, and immediately descend on Nidhogg.

Iza watches it all with wide eyes, sinking back against Edvard's chest weakly, her limbs trembling. The dragons are vicious now that they are free and Nidhogg, already injured and now without the power he drew so much strength from, cannot fight back quickly enough.

Nidhogg flees, his massive wings carrying his bloodied body far up into the clouds – and well beyond the clouds, Iza thinks, if her instincts are right.

Nidhogg's chains are broken and he will not return, she knows that much. Defeating him is not something for Iza to do – that is best left to the Gods themselves.

Dizzy, Iza closes her eyes and surrenders to the bone-deep exhaustion that suddenly takes root in her body. The world around her grows dim, the rush of energy she felt during the battle fading into nothing, and she allows herself to drift away, confident that Edvard and Eko will see her to safety now that her role in all of this is complete.

And so it is, as it was always meant to be.

Because this is how the reign of Nidhogg ends – not with a bang, not with fire, and not with a terrible death – but with a release, a shockwave of destiny and seidr so fierce that Nidhogg can only flee, can only return to the celestial realm he once fled from.

But as the reign of Nidhogg ends, the Twilight of the Gods begins.

Ragnarok has been foretold by the Norns for eons. The Gods knew it to be something inevitable, something that they must battle through so that they may be renewed and reborn. Something that must be suffered in return for the immortality and the gifts they enjoy. But with Nidhogg being detained by chains of his own making, the delay of Ragnarok continued, and so the cosmos did speak to a Norn and told her that she _must_ make a change.

And so, as Nidhogg flees to the celestial realm and that awful, malice-ridden worm begins to gnaw on the roots of Ygdrassil as he was always meant to do, it is Skuld who watches on with her sisters. She watches as the Twilight of the Gods begins, as Ragnarok destroys and dismantles and remakes, as the Twilight ends and the Gods absorb what destiny as wrought. And then she watches as her daughter – the singular Skuldsdottir, the Changemaker, Izabela of a small Viking village called Forks – recovers from her own battles.

Skuld watches and she smiles.

Verdandi turns to Urd. "You know, I think our Skuld might be happy."

"Oh? Is that what that expression means?"

"It is called a smile, sister."

"Does Skuld know how to do such a thing? Surely the world must be ending."

Verdandi laughs. "Surely it must – although, did we not just see a world end? Ragnarok has come and it has passed. Those left after the Twilight of the Gods and those who are reborn from the essence of the Gods…they are a new world."

Urd, always somewhat callous and cynical, hums. "I suppose that might be a reason to smile."

Skuld turns a fierce two-toned gaze on her sisters, one eye a brilliant blue and the other a warm amber. "I smile because, as a mother, I have seen that my daughter has found her worth."

"And her match – in a _Lokison_," Verdandi says with an upturned nose.

"Well, he has adored her for ages," Urd mutters, wrinkling her nose. "Not just in this life, but in previous ones, too."

"And lives in the future," Skuld adds, much more peacefully than her sisters. And even though the Izabela's of the future will not be her own daughter, she vows to watch over them as if they were. After all, she missed much of her Izabela's life because of circumstance and duty and the unwillingness to interfere with fate. She will be glad enough to continue to watch over the soul of her daughter in whatever form it takes.

"What of her life now?" Verdandi asks after a moment. "What of _our_ lives now?"

"We are Norns," Skuld says. "Although the Twilight of the Gods has come and gone, we still have our duties. We will play the same roles we have always played, watching over the past, the present, and the future. And when destiny taps at our shoulders again, we will be there to oversee the newly woven fates."

And because they are Norns, Verdandi and Urd can only reach the same conclusion and agree.

"Still…" Verdandi's voice is soft amid the smoke, blood, and poison still seeping through the cosmos as the remaining and renewed Gods recover to rebuild. "Will you visit her?"

Skuld only smiles.

* * *

**A/N: The author is giving you a serene smile. The author is very proud of how this plot came together and the twist she hopes surprised most of you! There is probably only one regular chapter after this, an epilogue of sorts to be posted soon. **

**If you have ANY requests for missing scenes or questions that the characters can answer or for future takes, submit them now. I won't be taking requests after 2/20/2020.**

**Norse stuff for this chapter - Ragnarok, AKA the Twilight of the Gods. Okay. So basically, Ragnarok is the celestial equivalent of the end-times and is thought of as the Norse version of a total apocalypse. Nidhogg plays a big role in Ragnarok because his eating of the World Tree (Ygdrassil) puts the entire universe out of alignment, makes room for some treachery, and signals the start of some really fucked up myths (such as Loki being tied to a stone and fed poison from his dead child, Jogumund, by his wife Syn as a retribution for Odin and sometimes Thor). Most scholars agree that Ragnarok didn't kill all of the Gods, but the majority of the well-known Gods did die after Ragnarok, thus signaling the end of Odin's reign and the Golden Age of Norse Mythology. After Ragnarok, there aren't a whole lot of remaining Norse myths, which can be attributed to Norse paganism being passed over for the embrace of Christianity. **

**BASICALLY, Iza's whole role in this was to kick-start the end of the reign of Gods, as has been foretold by the Norns. That's right, our girl is basically responsible for the end of the world - or at least the celestial world of the Gods. But the Norse have always been very frank about the death of their Gods, making them imperfect and able to die and not all-powerful. It's all very interesting that the entire culmination of Norse mythology is Ragnarok - like, the whole point of all the stories is the end-times. **

**Anyway! As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	36. epilogue

**Epilogue**

Iza wakes slowly, the world filtering in one sense at a time. First it is the sound of slow, even breaths, a rustle of fabric, the tiniest scrape of a claw against dirt and wood. Second is scent, a rich meaty brew and the nuttiness of fresh baked bread and the honeyed sweetness of ale, followed closely by a scent that is all too familiar to her now – sweat and leather and the scent of pine after it rains. Third is the taste of stale water in her mouth, a dryness of her tongue that tells her she has been sleeping for a long while. Fourth is touch, the supple firmness of a hay-made mattress beneath her back, the near-weightless drape of her tunic against her skin, and the sensation of a rough, calloused hand holding her own as gently as a flower.

Iza opens her eyes, just a sliver, and allows sight to be the final sense. She is greeted by coppery hair feathered over a strong brow, a straight nose, and pale pink lips pouted in sleep. Edvard is slumped over on his side, his head resting just beside her hip, his hands carefully holding one of hers. He snores, just a bit, and his nose twitches.

Although she stifles her amusement – and the pleasant surprise to discover once again how _innocent_ her Edvard is when he is sleeping – her poorly-concealed mirth does not escape notice. From where she is languishing near the hearth, which has died to embers, Eko lazily opens one eye to pin Iza with a vaguely amused look of her own. Their bond buzzes merrily in the back of Iza's mind, both of them wholly relaxed in a way they had not been since the first few moments following Eko's hatching.

_It is over_, Iza says with relief.

_It is,_ Eko agrees.

_What has been happening? How long have I been asleep?_

Eko closes her eyes, but opens her mind, allowing Iza to comb through everything that has happened in the – by _Frigg_ – near _day_ Iza has been slumbering.

There are several key points that draw Iza's attention – namely that the villagers have returned from their evacuation, the village itself sustained damage but no fatalities, and the villagers are now arguing amongst themselves what should now be done about the dragons. The Chieftain and the Elders have been holed up in the Great Hall, alternately coming out to start discussions and take opinions, before returning to continue their own terse meeting. From what the villagers say, it seems the Elders and the Chieftain are split on what to do, with the Elders being adamant that the dragons and riders need to be restrained and the Chieftain insisting that the advent of progress is not something to be discouraged. At this point, it is a stalemate that the village as a whole reflects. Nobody quite knows what to think or what to do, and so they continue on in circles.

Meanwhile, the dragons and the riders have retreated back to Edvard's house to recuperate. There are minor injuries between Emebor, Jaspar, and Jakob, but nothing that cannot be fixed with rest and a good healing salve. As to the dragons, only Kaldr sustained any injury, a long burn on the underside of his belly that has turned his scales white that he earned by protecting his rider – something which Iza senses Eko admires quite a bit. All off their injured are being tended to by Carlisle and Esme, who has made herself useful by providing food and news from the village.

The dragons from the mountain have mostly retreated, although several are scattered through the forest and the lower peaks to act as messengers – it seems they also want to be informed, something which Iza can only respect since they now need to guard against human violence in retribution now that their tyrant is gone. When Iza asks about Dagmar or any of the other dragons who have emerged from the haven within the mountain, Eko has no answers. Evidently Dyngju and Leiptr have made themselves the primary emissaries between the village and the mountain dragons, and have tasked themselves with staying abreast of both situations.

To Iza, it mostly sounds like things are up in the air. Not quite as settled as she assumed it would be when the biggest threat was taken care of. After all, what is there to think about now that Nidhogg has fled? With no Malice Striker around, there is no reason to fear the dragons – and likewise, surely the dragons know that humans have no ill-will toward them now that it is know just how deep Nidhogg's influence was.

And yet, it appears that these things Iza finds obvious are, at best, simply not recognized by her village, or even her allies.

Frankly, Iza is baffled. Should not they all simply _know_?

But of course, simply knowing things is something only Iza can do – although she does notice that this instinct of hers does not show itself as readily, as eagerly, as it did before the battle. She vows to ponder that later, after more immediate concerns are dealt with.

Feeling the soreness in her body, Iza aches to sit up and stretch her limbs. But if what Eko says is true, then Edvard has spent an entire restless day and night sitting vigil by Iza's side, refusing to leave except to eat and bathe. By Eko's reckoning, he has only just fallen into an exhausted sleep. Stubborn man. Not wanting to wake him, Iza resigns herself to waiting until he wakes up on his own.

It allows her time to turn over these new problems for a while. And to think about other things that she has been putting off.

By the time Edvard wakes, Iza has already reached the inevitable conclusion. After all, had the clues not always been obvious? She does not need to be the daughter of a Norn to know what will happen now.

"Iza?" Edvard rumbles, eyes opening blearily. He stares up at her for a long moment before his head pops off the bedding and he leans over her, just barely tracing over her jaw. "You are awake," he murmurs softly, a tone just for Iza. He frowns at her. "Are you okay? You fainted after-"

Dimly, Iza realizes Edvard is _fretting_. She catches his hand, stopping him from his anxious fluttering, and says, "I am _fine_. Sorry to have scared you."

"Worried, not scared," he corrects, but it is half-hearted at best.

Iza lets it go. Instead, she says, "Eko has told me of everything that has happened."

"Then you are better informed than I am," Edvard tells her. "I have been here since the battle. The others have come and gone, and Carlisle has been by to check on you, but they have told me nothing and I have no asked."

She is speechless, but only for a moment, her sense of responsibility making her speak up. "Edvard…you are next in line to be the Cheiftain…"

"And I know how to manage my priorities," he says firmly.

Iza's face heats up at the implication. "Be that as it may," she says, averting her gaze and sitting up with some effort, her body sore and her skin oddly pinched. "We cannot afford to delay. Things are precarious."

Edvard helps her to stand. "You should be resting," he mutters. "But I am wise enough to know I cannot stop you. So, lead the way. I will follow."

_I know you will_. Edvard will always follow where she leads, ready to partner and support should she need it. This time, he follows her through the hushed chaos of the village and to the Great Hall. He hesitates at the doorway, but even with the eyes of stray visitors on them, Iza is quick to lock her hand in his and walk them both inside. Immediately, the terse conversation between the Chieftain and the Elders halts.

The most agreeable of Elders looks at hers and her eyes light up. "Ah, excellent. This child can settle the argument."

"She is a _child_ – and a heretic at that!" another Elder scoffs.

"She is less of a child than you, my friend," says the first, smiling serenely at the sputtering that soon follows. The agreeable Elder gestures for Iza and Edvard to come closer. "And if not her word that you will respect, then you can at least listen to this man, yes? Unless he is also suddenly a _child_."

The irritating Elder remains silent, thoroughly cowed by the older woman.

The Chieftain, meanwhile, scrubs a hand over his face and says gruffly, "Children or not, this is not a decision they need be involved in."

The agreeable Elder shakes her head. "We are having a discussion among leaders of this village. This girl has been leading in your stead for months, using that Mik child as a mouthpiece, and this young man has been picking up all the slack. They have been instrumental in our survival, heretic or not. Are these not leaders?"

There is grudging agreement from the Elders and a silent nod from the Chieftain. And then the meeting resumes and Iza quickly catches up – instantly realizing that her gut feeling had been right.

They are discussing what to do now that the dragons are free. Instead of being relieved that dragons are no longer under control of something that had been making them violent and territorial, the Elders are concerned that free dragons will be just as much of a threat. Without something bringing them to heel, they will run amok. And so, the Elders find themselves torn into two camps – stay and eradicate the rest of the dragons, or leave and settle elsewhere.

Those who want to stay are called foolish, while those who want to leave are called cowards.

Iza looks at Edvard and Edvard looks at Iza – and they know which camp they fall into.

And when Iza looks at her father, she knows which way he wil go. So when the Chieftain speaks, talking as if he has been speaking of the same idea for hours, she is not surprised when he brings up Iceland. "We will settle there," he says, leaving no room for rebuke. "It is safe, the land is fertile, and there are no dragons to worry about. We will flourish there."

Naturally, Iza finds space to rebuke anyway. "Be that as it may, I do not think the entire village will be in agreement," she says.

Her father looks at her, dark eyes hard and his mouth firm beneath his beard.

Edvard speaks up before the Chieftain can. "There is more support for the dragons than you might think. The younger generation has not closed their minds and I do not think they should have to."

"So you would have us stay?" the Chieftain demands.

It is Iza's turn, her hand still warm in Edvard's. "We would have you go, taking those who want to leave, and we will stay, taking those who want to make peace."

"Separate the village?"

"The village is already separated," Edvard points out.

Iza lifts her chin. "And is Edvard not your choice for next Chieftain? He can simply take up the mantle sooner rather than later."

Edvard's fingers squeeze around hers. "We will take up the mantle. A joint leadership for a renewed village," he says quietly. But his eyes are hard, daring and challenging. He will not move from this opinion. He will maintain this position because it is right, and for no other reason.

And perhaps the Chieftain sees this, because he exhales heavily, closes his eyes, and says, "It could work."

"Chieftain!"

Her father holds up his hand, halting the protests where they stand as he looks at the Elders with his own challenge. "He is my choice and she is my daughter. If it is true that the youth would like to stay and make peace with the dragons, then they should try. Forcing them to come with us will not bring peace, and if it does not work then they can always journey to Iceland." The Chieftain pauses then, gaze soft on Iza. "I am proud of what my daughter has accomplished. If she thinks this is the way, then I will put my trust in her."

And at that, there is no room for the Elders to argue. It is perhaps the best compromise any of them can come to, and it is a compromise that spreads rapidly through the village.

The next several weeks sees a lot of planning as families decide to stay or go. All throughout the harvest, Edvard's prediction that the younger generation would be willing to stay in Forks is proven true. And so the colder months are spent in preparation for settling in a new place, as well as seeing to the settlement of the free dragons as Dagmar comes from her haven and takes back her throne.

For Iza, it is astonishing to see how rapidly things can change. The fall passes as it usually does, with the exception of the dragon riders putting their skills to use as fliers and speeding up many of the processes that take the village weeks to complete. It is this that sways a few of the middle-aged villagers to try staying rather than migrating.

But even still, at the start of winter, it is clear that more are leaving than staying. And that is fine, she thinks, because the younger generation is ready to build themselves families.

She and Edvard certainly are – they plan to marry in mid-winter, just like Alise had predicted. They are already partners in every other way, and now that they have come together, it seems that neither of them can bear the thought of being separated. Somedays, even leaving to sleep in different houses seems like too much of a strain.

Iza finds that her lips and her skin misses Edvard in the night. She cannot wait to share a bed and find another type of peace in his arms. That they manage at all to be chaste in the days leading to their union is something which can only be attributed to Edvard's respect for the Chieftain. If Iza had her way, she would _have her way_. Sometimes even she is surprised by her lust.

But there are things that can distract her. For one, aside from the rush of the harvest and the preparations that are spreading through the town as winter snows settle in, there are unexpected things that come to light.

The scar on Iza's body has faded to silver, near invisible to the eye unless seen in the moonlight. Along with the fades scar is an absence of that deep-rooted instinct that had guided her through the last few months. Now the only intuition she has is her own. Any magic that had been stored in her body has been reduced to almost nothing. Only her bond with Eko remains.

And for Edvard, the change is more distinct. He had used so much magic to fight Nidhogg that now his ability with seidr is scant. Although he is lucky to be able to light a fire at most, Edvard is _relieved_ that the magic is gone. Now he has one less secret to hide from those who place their trust in him. He will always be Lokison, but now it is mostly in name rather than in ability.

They share the thought that these sacrifices of their birthrights are more than worth it for what they have found in return.

It is as Iza says each time they separate, warmth lingering on their lips. "This is enough."

And yet while there has been much peace made, closure seems to have a way of sneaking through when it is least expected. It is one such day where the final scrap of peace settles itself gingerly in her mind – a frail bit of peace she had never been bold enough to search for.

Iza has just returned after a bath in the cold spring when she sees it. Still shivering from the cold and the tiny flakes of ice that fall from the sky, Iza is quick to light the hearth in her father's longhouse. She turns, expecting to see Eko behind her has always, but finds that Eko has not followed her inside. Iza hurries to the open door, intending to call out to Eko, but stops short when she sees that there are _two_ dragons in her yard.

First is Eko, who has laid down on the grass with a sense of serenity even though the frost on the grass has not melted from the overnight freeze and it must surely be cold. Second is Kaldr, who had evidently followed them home through the forest and who is, as far as Iza can see, _pacing_ with a pent up sort of energy.

Iza frowns, but holds her tongue and watches.

Kaldr moves closer to Eko, never slowing or stopping to rest near her, but certainly close enough that it can be considered _circling_. As he does, he occasionally let's out a cool trail of ice, something like a dare. In return, Eko turns her head up and to the side when he passes close again and blows a short, narrow stream of fire right in his face. Kaldr growls and ice meets the fire in a puff of steam – and then he finally moves close enough to get into Eko's face, aggression writ on each scale, only to be greeted by a cold rush of ice landing on his nose. Kaldr blinks, pausing, and Eko take the opportunity to flick her forked tongue against his nose.

Kaldr's ears pin back, his wings drooping as he loses his hostility, and Eko let's out a low trill that has Kaldr dropping unceremoniously onto the ground beside her, looking to all the world as if he is reluctantly resting near Eko. But still he stays, even when Eko shuffles to rest her head beneath his, her muzzle turned into the newly scarred scales climbing up his throat. Kaldr rumbles a warning, but he does not snap at Eko, and Iza can feel through their shared bond how pleased this makes her dear dragon.

Eko watches this glimpse of a complicated courtship with a smile, then turns away from the door, closing it behind her to search for a comb so that she can brush her wet hair. She need not worry about Eko at the moment – after all, she has her own wedding to prepare for.

Usually, it is a mother or an aunt that helps a girl prepare for her wedding. As Iza has neither, she has resigned herself to preparing by herself. She has had help along the way with Alice waking her a new tunic in a fine, pale shade of blue, the fabric thin and delicate and embroidered with green vines and golden flowers – wedding clothes that reflect both the bride and groom. Róża has been thoughtful in helping Jaspar and Emebor prepare the clearing overlooking the fjord where Iza and Edvard plan to marry. Even Jakob has seen to crafting two fine rings as his own way of pitching in. But although she has her father's approval and the Chieftain will be in attendance to observe the wedding, Iza is still alone in this moment, just as she was when she crafted the lavender soap and oils to bathe in, just as she was when she soaked in the spring, and just as she is now when she weaves her hair into a series of complex braids after she is dressed.

It is fine, as far as Iza is concerned. After today, she will never be alone again – and neither will Edvard. They both have spent a lifetime aching for family that will never be there, but after they are owed, they will be each other's family. Which is as it should be, especially because of the _other_ changes that will happen once winter breaks and the oceans are free to sail once more.

Iza sighs, chastising herself for thinking of the future when she should be grounded in the moment. Even on such an important day it seems she cannot resist the blood and its influence that still lingers in her veins. She will always be thinking of the future in some way – planning and anticipating – but she has also made a solemn vow to herself that she will focus on the moment more, especially the important moments that count for so much.

"I wish you luck on that, daughter of mine. I have been alive eons and have never managed to do so, but perhaps you are wiser than I," says a calm voice from behind her.

Iza's hand still in her hair and she turns to look at the being who has appeared in the longhouse. Even if the words had not confirmed it, she knows without being told who this statuesque woman with moon-pale skin and dual-toned eyes is.

Skuld, who Iza does indeed resemble quite a lot. But Skuld's otherworldly appearance had been tempered by the Chieftain's genes, and there are parts of Iza's face that are softer, rounder, less intimidatingly ferocious than Skuld's. True to her reputation as being a Valkyrie, the Norn is dressed in golden armor and strapped with weapons as sharp as the red smile on her face. Yet even with that smile, Iza can see something soft in Skuld's eyes, something fond which only mothers have.

"You're here," Iza whispers.

"I could not miss such an important day. Not after missing so many others," Skuld tells her.

"And yet you did miss others," Iza says, a touch accusing.

Skuld holds her head high. "My child, none of us are in control of our own fates, not even the Norns themselves. Ours is a burden to know what will happen and what cannot be changed. For me, your very life is no exception."

There is a question on Iza's tongue, words that have been itching around her brain since she was a child trapped in a hollowed tree in frozen winter with no hope if escape, word that have been simmering in the most tender, insecure places in her mind. And so she speaks them before her courage leaves. "Do you regret it?"

"Giving you life? Never."

"Because I was a Changemaker."

"Because you you're my daughter, in this life and the next and all that will follow," Skuld confesses softly. And although Iza does not know Skuld, she understands that this is a concession Skuld would not make for anyone else. Not even her sister Norns are given such blunt truth, not in the matters of Skuld's heart.

Iza swallows and looks down. She does not ask if Skuld loved her father, because that is a wound she does not want to open and see – and so she swears that none but her husband will learn of this visit. The Chieftain's heart is still bruised and knowing that his once-wife did or did not love him will not help anyone.

"You make a darling bride," Skuld says after a moment. "The Frigg-touched girl did a marvelous job on your clothes…but you are missing something."

Iza holds still while Skuld's hands touch her hair, working something that twinkles like bells into Iza's braids. And indeed it is bells that are being placed in her hair, tiny golden bells linked on fine chains that spill between inky locks of hair and glisten in the muted winter light. The bells are affixed by a small golden comb that sits just behind Iza's ear, its face adorned with the etchings of scales.

"If you speak my name to these bells, I will come, my daughter," Skuld says, both her voice and her touch a wisp that fades just as abruptly as they appeared.

Iza touches the bells in her hair and blinks away the tears gathered in her eyes.

Through their bond, Eko asks, _Are you okay? _

_I am fine_, Iza replies and knows it to be true. After all, she was not without a mother on her wedding day and that is a blessing she never dared to wish for.

This blessing is what carries Iza through the forest and allows her to kneel at the ritual alter at Edvard's side with grace, surrounded by friends and dragons with the Chieftain residing over the service. Iza becomes a wife in the midday of winter, mead rich on her tongue and her hand warm in her husband's after they bow to the Gods and share a kiss before witnesses. Iza becomes a wife and knows that more eyes than she can see are watching her ceremony.

It is enough.

And as she looks into to vibrant green eyes of her husband, she thinks, _This will always be enough._

* * *

**A/N: And that's a wrap on the official story. There are about five short outtakes planned, which I will try to get posted this week, along with a final author's note.  
**

**Thoughts on how things ended? As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

**~Rae**


	37. outtake: young edvard

He is too young to know better, but the way he speaks of Loki is different from his new siblings.

"Master _this_ and Father _that_," taunts Emebor, who is ten and loud and intimidating enough that Edvard usually seeks the companion of his adoptive sister rather than this Branson. "As if you have ever met the Silvertongue!"

"But I have," Edvard mutters, pinching his brows together. He fists his hands and glares at his brother. "He saved me, you know, and then he told me –"

"You must have been dreaming!" Emebor says dismissively. Then he tips his nose into the air, sniffing at the scent of braised meat coming from the longhouse on the farm. "Food!" is all Emebor says before he darts off, his stomach quickly making him forget his teasing of Edvard.

But Edvard stays behind, tucking his arms close to his body with a mighty frown on his face. Emebor says he must have been dreaming, but Edvard knows better. He _knows_ that he did not dream of Loki because Loki told him so himself – and then he showed him that Edvard is just like Loki, with green magic eager to leap to his skin. Loki had told him to call him Father, because he is, and then Master, because he will be.

Loki has lied to many, but he had not lied to Edvard.

His mother always said that parents never truly lie to their children. Of course, now both his mother and his father are gone, and the only father he knows now are Bran, the farmer who has adopted him, and Loki, who steals Edvard away in the night to teach him seidr.

But nobody will believe Edvard about Loki and he does not know why. It has become a source of teasing for older children, so more and more Edvard falls silent, not daring to speak his thoughts. He had thought Emebor would listen, but he has been proven wrong.

Edvard trudges back toward the farm, his steps heavy and his mind sad. He does not notice his adoptive sister has also found her way home on the same path until Alise turns up at his elbow. He rears back slightly, then blinks at the dampness clining to her simple dress. "Where have you been?"

"With Iza," Alise answers breezily. "We made soaps."

_Iza_, Edvard thinks with a muted sense of glee. He does not see her as often now that he lives on the farm, but when he lived closer to the village with his parents he would frequently see her stepping on her father's heels as she followed him around. He thinks she is pretty, but he does not know how to speak to her, even if she does always spare him a wide smile.

Yet he also knows that Alise seems to be her only friend, except for an infant cousin, Jakob, who is not related by blood. He wonders why Iza does not come out to the farm and then wonders why he should care at all. Pretty girls are not as useful as knowing Loki, after all.

"Tricksters," Alise says abruptly.

Edward looks at her. "What?"

Alise's odd eyes turn his way, slightly clouded. "Even if you trust him, you should remember that tricksters twist to get their way. Do not let yourself be twisted."

Edvard would like to say that Alise's words are nonsensical, but he knows better by now. The whole village knows better by now, and she is not even eight springs old. So he knows that the trickster she speaks of can be nobody else but Loki.

Edvard thinks about how he is being alienated by his peers, thinks about how _Iza_ has already been alienated for not conforming, and thinks that he does not want that for himself. Even if Loki is Father and Master, he is still not here all the time and he does not want to take Edvard with him – he had asked, repeatedly, and had been denied each time.

So Edvard takes Alise's words to heart, and when he sits down for the evening meal with his new family, he does not speak a word about Loki for the first time since he was adopted. He does not miss the relieved look the farmer and his wife share, or the way that Alise smiles with serene approval.

_This is the price for acceptance_, Edvard thinks. _Keeping secrets and playing normal_.

And so, Edvard starts to keep his first secret, and he does not speak of it for another twelve years.


	38. outtake: the chieftain

The villagers, the Elders, and sometimes it feels like the whole _world_ calls his daughter a heretic. The Chieftain wants to scoff and point out that they are pagans and that a whole sect of Saxons accuse them of being heretics, but he restrains himself – because they are, in a way, right.

His daughter has always been a heretic, one way or another. It seems to be her birthright. He does not know how to stop it, or even if he wants to.

Because now, her heretical ways have saved them all.

The Chieftain stands in the middle of his village, fending off attacking dragons with the help of other dragons, and he still cannot believe that such a thing is possible. There is such chaos, but his daughter has wrangled a team of youths willing to ride on dragons and turn the tides in their favor – and she has done this of her own volition, even while likely knowing that she was damaging her own reputation.

It is not the first time and it will not be the last time that he thinks his daughter is more capable than himself.

He credits her mother for this, knowing his commitment to _normal_ is certainly not something that has been passed to Izabela. He is not nearly as brilliant, as rebellious, as freethinking as his daughter, and perhaps it shows in the way the village as a whole responds to change.

The Chieftain shakes his head and slashes his sword out at the next dragon who dares come too close – but before he can make contact, the dragon is swept away by another who has a rider on its back. He watches as lightning and fire clash, as the dragon that attacked him is swept away into further calculated chaos, and he knows that his daughter is responsible for this…miraculous change.

And he also knows that his mind changing means absolutely nothing in the grand scheme. His acceptance is paltry in comparison to the rest of the village – and he certainly knows that the majority of them would rather destroy change than embrace it.

He is still proud. Fiercely proud of his daughter and the iron that is forged in her spine.

And he vows, when this is all over, to be sure to let her know.


	39. outtake: the gods

"Why does it have to be _me_?"

Several of the Vanir and Asgardians roll their eyes at Thor's whining, but it is Loki who scoffs. "Are you not the second-strongest of us? Is that not what you brag about? _Oh, I am Thor and this is my mighty hammer_!"

"I do not sound like that!" Thor thunders.

Loki ignores him. "Of course you should be the one to deliver magic to the Changemaker. You have the most seidr to spare."

"You could do it," Thor grumbles.

Loki holds up his hands, green sparking from his palms. "Ah, I could, but my magic is not violent enough."

"Father could then," Thor says, shooting a look at Odin.

"Sure, if you want to _kill_ the Changemaker," Loki says blandly. At Thor's blank stare, he sighs through his nose. "The All-Father's magic is too potent. It would overwhelm the poor Halfling and then where would we be?"

"Thor," Odin says sternly when it looks like Thor will continue to argue.

Thor sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and then stands from the golden table. "Fine. Get my hammer!" he shouts to his attendants. Then, in a lower voice, he says, "Let us hope my aim is good."

"Just shy of the heart," Loki reminds him sweetly.

"Bastard," Thor replies.

Loki only smiles, his mind already venturing to the other tasks he must complete for his role as catalyst. _A visit to my son would be a good place to start_, he thinks mirthfully.


	40. outtake: future fliers

"Is it supposed to look like that?"

"I will remind you that I have only hatched one egg and that Eko's egg is much different than this one," she retorts. It is true enough. This particular egg shares the same stone like quality as Eko's, but it is also covered in ice courtesy of Kaldr and looks to be totally frozen. She does not dare touch it in fear of freezing her own fingers off.

"Still, it has been enough weeks, right?"

Iza narrows her eyes at her husband, smoothing a hand over her stomach with a pointed look. "This conversation feels oddly familiar."

"And as I recall Carlisle had a similar answer," Edvard says, hoisting their three year old son up on his hip. "The baby will come when it comes. I just assumed a dragon egg might be different."

"Evidently it is not," she says primly. With a sigh, she looks at their son, his coppery hair falling into his two-toned eyes. He rubs his eye sleepily and smiles at his mother, and internally Iza melts with adoration. "He should be sleeping."

"He wanted to check on the egg, says that he has to be there when his dragon hatched, just like his mother was there when _her_ dragon hatched."

Iza taps her son's nose. "Silly boy, you know that dragons choose their riders, not the other way around."

"But I know that's my dragon, mommy," he says with a small lisp. His eyes are fixed on the frozen egg, even as they droop heavily.

Iza smiles. "Well, _your_ dragon will still be safe in its shell until morning, so off to sleep for you."

Their son tucks his face into Edvard's neck and lets himself be carried off to his own little bed, a recent achievement now that he is a _big boy and I can sleep on my own_. Iza watches with her lips tipped up, tapping her stomach when the baby kicks at her through her womb. Then she looks to Eko, who is watching over her egg protectively while her mate is off in search of food.

_Is he right_? She wonders to her dragon.

Eko's eyes lift for just a moment. _Perhaps. He does share your blood, so perhaps he would know. _

_He also shares his father's blood, and Edvard has never found a dragon willing to bond with him. _

_He has me, _Eko says. _He does not need a different dragon._

_It is not the same, and you know it._

Eko's side of the bond hums in agreement, and then they fall silent. It has been interesting, both of them carrying children at the same time. They have not flown together for months for the sake of safety and they each miss sharing the skies together – but soon enough they will be in the clouds.

Perhaps the next time they fly, they will be sharing the clouds with their bonded children.


	41. final author note

**Final Author Note**

Hello readers! Incredibly, it has taken me a whole year to write this story - something I find absolutely stunning, as it was _originally_ only meant to be 30k or so. But of course, many things changed as I wrote the story, from the summary to the rating to the final plot twists at the end.

If I'm being honest, writing this story has been difficult for me - and not for any other reason than I lacked a passion for the story. Because I believe in being open about mental health, I will extend the courtesy to explain why.

I began writing this story five days after a suicide attempt. For me, this story was a much-needed distraction from the darkness in my own head and I grasped at it with a certain desperation. _Please, just use this to replace my thoughts_. I posted a poll on Facebook, picked the option with the most votes, and started writing to try to dig myself out of the warped mess in my head.

And it worked. I trudged through and used writing as an outlet and managed to climb out of a deep, dark space I never want to visit again. I wrote and I went to therapy. I wrote and I adjusted medications. I wrote and I wrote and I kept going. But by the time I did all of this, I realized that writing a story without passion for the story itself was difficult. On the heels of writing supernormal, a veritable epic and my personal favorite of anything I've ever written, continuing dottir when I had no real love for the story was a challenge.

I would have pulled the story, but you guys seemed to love it so much...and so I kept writing. And now that it is complete, I can stop and appreciate the journey that this story personally represents for me - I can keep going, even when I don't think that I can.

In fact, we all can.

Life in its most simple form is just getting through the day as best you can. The most any of us can do is try to get through the next 10 seconds, the next 10 minutes, the next 10 hours, and so on. Trying, even just a little, is better than not trying at all. And being content with what you can do is the best way to love yourself.

I suppose, in the end, I have to thank all who read the story this year. All of your reviews and support served as a reminder that I still have something I need to try to do. You guys have always been the most loyal and loving readers, and I truly appreciate each of you.

Hopefully, if you're having your own struggles, you will find this note and it will help you find a way to keep going.

Remember: reach out for help when you need it and keep trying, even when you don't think you can anymore.

All my thanks and appreciation,

Rae


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